To Find the Way Home
by memberoftheliterati
Summary: In the aftermath of Halloween 1981, Remus is alone, the last of the Marauders.  Betrayed and grieving, he is not sure how to go on until Dumbledore presents him with a mission to help the one person he still cares about- James' son. This is that story.
1. Shattered

_A/N: This story is for all you Remus fans out there. I intend to follow him from the night of Lily and James' death to the morning he sets foot on the train in PoA. These twelve years, as far as Remus is concerned, are completely undocumented in canon so there's a whole wonderland out there to play with. With this in mind, expect a number of OCs- maybe even a relationship or two (canon does not claim Tonks was Remus' first love!). And to end this freakishly long A/N: For those of you who are still interested, our journey begins…_

_Disclaimer: Now for the shocker- I don't own _Harry Potter_. Some extremely lucky people do._

Chapter One: Shattered

Remus was relaxing in front of the fire with a book. It felt good to have a quiet night. For too long now there had been no nights like this, between Order business and his job in Diagon Alley. He pushed his thoughts away from that. He was not in love with his job. While he quite liked Flourish and Blotts, he did not find work as a clerk interesting or challenging. Once he'd had a job that was both those things… but that had been taken away from him. He shook his head, tossing the memories more firmly from it. There was no sense pouring salt in old wounds. He focused once more on the page in front of him, when suddenly a burst of light filled the room.

He was on his feet at once, gripping his wand tightly. However, when the light faded all that had changed about the room was the tiny roll of parchment sitting atop a phoenix feather. Remus sprinted over to it at once. So much for a quiet night. The only thing a message could be containing at this hour was news of a Death Eater attack where his assistance was needed. He unfolded the scroll and scanned it, only to do so several more times before he could take it in. There was no news of an attack, no location to Apparate to with dire calls for reinforcements. Instead was a short message: _Please come to my office at Hogwarts as soon as you possibly can. –Albus Dumbledore_. What could that mean? Why on earth would Dumbledore call him in on Order business so late? He glanced at the clock; it was past eleven. Sudden fear ran through him. What if the Death Eaters had caught Sirius? It was soon, granted, incredibly sooner than he thought it would be. After all, Sirius himself was in hiding. But it wasn't impossible. Without allowing himself further speculation, Remus dropped the note and Disapparated.

He reappeared just outside the Hogwarts gates, hastily giving them the passwords that would make them open for him. Terror filling him, he flat-out sprinted up the drive, checking himself only when he reached the castle doors. Although it took great effort, he managed not to run and risk waking students or teachers once he entered the building. He just hurried through the empty halls that he still knew so well, and along with the other Marauders perhaps better than any students before or since, taking every shortcut. Three minutes later he stood outside the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office and said curtly, "Sugar Quill". The gargoyle moved aside and rather than ride at the pace of the moving staircase, Remus took the stairs two at a time. He pushed the office door open with a cursory knock. Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, looking as grave as Remus had ever seen him. Accordingly, his terror increased exponentially.

"What?" he asked breathlessly, "What is it? Is it Sirius? Has he been-?"

"Sirius Black has not been killed by Death Eaters," Dumbledore said, his voice shaking.

Remus, taking the tremble for grief rather than anger, demanded, "What then? Has he been captured? Injured? Or- or is it- Peter? They wouldn't hesitate to go after him if they thought he could lead them to Sirius…"

"Please sit down, Remus," Dumbledore said calmly. Remus felt far too agitated to sit, but he obeyed anyway because he knew Dumbledore wouldn't tell him what this was all about until he had. The Headmaster surveyed him for a moment, and Remus was even more alarmed to see that his eyes were moist. Whatever he was about to hear, it wasn't good, and he braced himself. When the Headmaster next spoke, it was very quietly. "I wish more than anything in the world I did not have to give you this news, but it is better that you hear it from me than from the _Daily Prophet_. Remus, James and Lily are dead."

Remus blinked. Of all the things he had been expecting to hear, this had not been it. "That can't be. I'm sorry, sir, your information must be wrong. James and Lily are in hiding; they performed the Fidelius Charm just last week. Sirius is their Secret-Keeper." He frowned. "You know that."

"Yes, I know that Sirius Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper," Dumbledore said. He paused, and then his voice shook again with barely contained fury, "He revealed their location. He sold them to Voldemort. He was the spy."

Remus' eyes widened. If Dumbledore had not looked so serious, he would have laughed. He still half-expected Sirius to jump out of the shadows and shout, "GOTCHA!". But as that didn't happen and the Headmaster merely continued to look at him, Remus felt he had best explain the error that seemed to have been made. He did not, however, wish to offend the man he respected above all others, so he said cautiously, "Professor Dumbledore, I am certain you must be mistaken. Sirius woud never, _never_ do anything to hurt James and Lily. Sirius and James… we're all brothers, but they're even closer than that. They're… two halves of a whole. Sirius would never betray James. Never. He would die first."

Dumbledore did not look offended. He just sat there, watching Remus with incredible sympathy in his eyes. It was this, more than anything else, that made Remus realize it was true. He quickly turned his head away, refusing to believe it, but Dumbledore spoke again, drawing Remus' gaze to him, "I will not insult you by saying I know how much this hurts. There is no other possible explanation. Sirius Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper; _only_ he could have revealed their location. I was at Godric's Hollow an hour ago; I had Order members stationed there to alert me to anything unusual, just in case. James and Lily are dead. Sirius Black is a traitor."

All the color drained from Remus' face. He looked at the floor. This time, he could not deny the evidence. He knew that Dumbledore would not lie about something like this, that he would not cause unnecessary pain. He was gripping the arms of his chair so hard that he could no longer feel his white hands. In fact, he couldn't feel anything at all anymore. He might have been floating; he could see himself as if he were outside his body, standing somewhere in the room. He heard himself whisper hoarsely, "They're all gone… All of them…"

"No," Dumbledore corrected softly, "I said that James and Lily are dead. Harry survived."

Remus looked up, eyes wide once again. "What do you mean? How could Harry survive? He's just a baby." He knew about the prophecy, of course. Enough to know that it was the reason Harry, James and Lily had been in such danger, anyway. Something about Harry possibly being the one to vanquish Voldemort…

"It is a very ancient magic, to which I am sure Voldemort gave no thought. He survived because Lily died to save him. It protected him from the full brunt of the Killing Curse. He defeated Voldemort."

"What?" Remus wasn't sure how many more shocks he could take. "Voldemort's _dead_?"

"No. No, he is not quite dead," Dumbledore said slowly, "He is out there somewhere, I am sure of it. But his powers have been shattered, and he was ripped from his body. Suffice it to say that, for now, he is no threat. News has spread quickly. Much of our world is celebrating his downfall as we speak."

Remus didn't respond to that. He felt no thrill of joy to know that Voldemort was gone. He did not even feel relief. He did, however, feel a stirring of disgust. How could people be celebrating at a time like this? Did they not care that James and Lily Potter, two of the best people he had ever known, were dead? Did they not care that Harry was an orphan? Remus' thoughts stopped there. Harry was an orphan. _Harry was alive._ His gaze snapped to Dumbledore's again. Without preamble, he said, "I'll take him. I'll take Harry. I will raise him as James would have. They don't have any family left alive and Sirius is-," Remus stopped. He could not bring himself to say 'a traitor'. "-incapable of fulfilling his role as godfather. I will take that place. James would have wanted it." He held no hesitation in that fact.

"No. I am afraid I cannot let you do that."

"Why?" Remus cried, "Because I'm a werewolf?" He managed to register how irrational it was to be saying this to Albus Dumbledore of all people, but in his vulnerable state his mind went straight to his greatest fear. So many other things had been taken from him simply because of what he was.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, but replied calmly, "No. Your condition has nothing to do with it. I am sure you would raise Harry admirably. However, I must also consider his safety. Voldemort may not be a threat at the moment, but his followers are and you can be sure they will want revenge. I have sent Harry to live with Lily's sister, Petunia."

"What? You're sending Harry to live with _Muggles_? Lily and her sister _hated_ each other; Petunia _hates _magic. She won't tell him anything of our world. How do you know she won't just throw him out? She certainly won't _love_ him- not like I would!"

"She will not throw him out; I have made sure of that," Dumbledore said grimly, "As to whether or not she will love him remains to be seen. Even if she tells him nothing of our world, he will still get his letter and come here when he is eleven, just as any Muggle-born would. Remus, you must understand, as much as I would like to give Harry to you, I must do what is best for him," he explained, "By dying for him, Lily made sure protection lingered in his very blood. I have finished the charm for her. By placing him with his mother's blood, I have ensured that while he can call her house home, Voldemort and the Death Eaters will not be able to harm him there. The charm will last until he is of age. I know that James would have liked you to raise his son in his place, but I need to make sure he gets to Hogwarts _alive_, and James would want that even more."

Remus nodded, and hung his head. He knew Dumbledore was right, but it was like Harry being dead all over again. Living with Muggles like that, Remus would never even be allowed to visit. He fought very hard against the tears welling up inside of him. He knew that if he started crying now, he would never leave Dumbledore's office. To have lost James and Sirius in one night… that left only him and- "Sir? Where's Peter? Have you told him this already?"

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed overbright once again. "Remus, I am very sorry, but-"

"No. No, no, no, no, _no_. This isn't happening. You're not going to tell me that-"

"Yes. Peter is dead. Apparently, he heard of Black's betrayal. He hunted him down and tried to duel him. Of course, Black is the much stronger wizard. He performed a curse that killed Peter and twelve Muggles nearby. Black is now in the custody of the dementors at Azkaban."

"_No_. Peter, how could you? You were always hopeless at dueling… you knew you were no match for Sirius…" Remus was shaking very badly now. If he didn't get out of this office soon, he might hear more bad news and he couldn't take that. "May… may I go, sir?"

Dumbledore hesitated. "Are you going to be all right alone? You could go to the Hospital Wing… Madam Pomfrey would give you a potion for dreamless sleep… you've been through quite a lot in a very short period of time…"

"No." Remus could not go to sleep, only to wake up and remember. He wasn't sure if he'd ever sleep again, but right now he knew beyond a doubt that he had to be alone. "I'm fine, sir."

"You are not." Dumbledore's penetrating gaze pierced him for a long moment before he nodded slightly. "But you will be, in time. Very well, you may go. Please use my fire to Floo home. I do not want you Apparating in your state. And… my door is always open to you, Remus Lupin."

Remus nodded, then stumbled over to the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of powder from the jar beside it and stepped into the flames, shouting his address. He had no sooner touched down in his own fire than he crossed the room and collapsed onto the couch, not even bothering to brush the soot from his robes. He had barely hit the cushions before the storm within him burst. He pulled himself into the corner, head on his knees, sobbing. He was sure he would never be able to stop. He felt as though he had been internally shattered. Unconsciously, he rocked himself back and forth, taking gulps of air in between his sobs. These had not been the first deaths he'd seen at Voldemort's hand. He knew what war was like. He knew all about casualties- his own mother had been among them, as had James' parents. Too many friends had given their lives for this cause. Throughout all of it, though- the pain, the anger, the fear- there had been the four of them. Sirius, James, Peter, and himself. Lily had been welcomed into the fold (with a certain relief that they no longer had to listen to James' plots about how to get her to date him), as had Sirius' girlfriend Christina, but most important had been the four of them. They had never spent longer than a month without seeing each other, including holidays, since they were eleven. They were there to celebrate each other's triumphs- Remus was sure one of the happiest days of his life had been James' and Lily's wedding day. They had been there to hold each other up during the hard times; Remus would never forget the way they had faithfully tended him following every full moon since his mother's death. And when Voldemort or his Death Eaters struck, they had been there to pick up the pieces and put each other back together in the weeks following whosever funeral they'd had to attend.

But who would pick up his pieces this time?

_A/N: So there it is. Bit of a short opening chapter, I know, but I wanted to give that first night its own. Reviews are always appreciated and responded to._


	2. Lost

_*Insert standard do-not-own disclaimer here*_

Chapter Two: Lost

It was dawn before Remus could calm down, dry sobs shaking him long after his physical tears were spent. It was much longer before he could rouse himself from the corner of the couch he'd curled into. He really didn't see much point in doing anything other than staring at the blank patch of wall he was facing. He didn't see much point in anything anymore. However, when the sun had risen high enough that it was visible through the living room window, he dragged himself into the bathroom for a shower. Normally, a long hot shower helped him focus and work through his current troubles. Now, however, he simply tried to avoid thinking about anything whatsoever, which was difficult as phrases like _James and Lily… Peter… Sirius… traitor… Harry with Muggles_ kept floating through his head. Each time they did, a violent tremor seized him. Following every one of these, he wished for nothing more than for it to have been him in Godric's Hollow last night.

Remus remained in the shower for a long time, despite the fact that even the bodily pleasure of his muscles untensing under the hot water was lost on him. He just didn't know what else to do. What did one normally do after their entire world had come crashing down around them? Eventually, he noticed that both his fingers and toes had started to prune, and turned the water off. When he got back to the living room, he found an owl sitting on the table, a letter attached to its leg. Coming closer, he saw that it was from Hogwarts. He removed the scroll, and the owl stretched, but didn't take off. He supposed it had been instructed to wait for a response. Remus read another note from Dumbledore. This one said that he had recovered James' and Lily's bodies from the wreckage of the house, and had them preserved under spells in a heavily locked room at the castle. He added that he would be more than happy to make the funeral arrangements if Remus didn't feel up to it. As with the note last night, Remus had to re-read this one several times to take it in, each time focusing on words like _bodies_ and _funeral_. Finally, he found some parchment of his own and wrote a brief reply, thanking Dumbledore for his concern but saying he would make the arrangements himself. Besides the fact that he owed James that much, he was desperate to have _something_ to do.

He jumped into making the arrangements almost as soon as the owl had flown out the window. He wrote the necessary letters to get a presiding wizard, and Apparated to Godric's Hollow to talk to the minister at the church there about having graves dug and if they might use the building. He was extremely grateful that he could not see the cottage from the main road, at the end of which were located the church and graveyard. It caused him enough pain to see the village at all. Nonetheless, the preparations for the funeral had a strange, surreal quality to them. The same thing had happened when he'd made the arrangements for his mother's funeral a few years earlier. It was as if he were discussing dolls instead of actual human beings whom he had loved. When his mother died, he'd been a bit disturbed by this detachment and blamed it on the fatigue the approaching full moon caused him. Now, however, he was simply grateful for it. He did not want to feel anymore than was absolutely necessary. It already hurt so much that it took every ounce of his self-control not to start sobbing as he conferred with the minister, and he did not like to think what would happen if he allowed himself to apprehend the full reality of the situation.

On the way home, he stopped at the post office in Diagon Alley to send an owl to the _Daily Prophet_ with the information about the funeral, so they could publish a notice. It was to be held on Thursday, 4 November, in three days' time. When he had noticed the calendar date in the church office at Godric's Hollow, he had seen the tiny print that identified it as _All Souls' Day_. While the Wizarding world did not observe this, the Christian one did and Remus remembered enough from his churchgoing days as a child to know it was a day meant to commemorate everyone who had died in the past year. He was devastatingly aware of the irony. Back at his little country house, Remus found another letter waiting for him. This one was from Mrs. Pettigrew, inviting him to the private memorial she was giving for Peter the following night. With no body, there could be no proper funeral. It was the last thing he wanted to do, because it would force him to face the reality of Peter being gone, but he wrote a yes as his reply and sent it back with her owl. With nothing else to do or distract him, Remus undressed slowly and climbed into bed. It was quite some time later that he fell into an exhausted sleep against his soaked pillow.

The sympathy visits began shortly after Remus had dragged himself out of bed the following afternoon. Order members and old schoolmates alike started showing up at his door, sad faces and hushed voices all offering condolences. The first time or two Remus wondered vaguely why they were coming to _him_, but through his fog he remembered that he was the only family James and Lily really had left. _Unless you count those magic-hating Muggles who have taken Harry_, he thought viciously. His reason noted that this was not really fair; Harry had been thrust on them, and for his own safety. But the anger toward Lily's sister helped him feel something other than grief, so he was all too happy to seize on it. He'd given up on trying not to think about James, Lily, Peter, and Sirius at all and now was just grateful for any emotion that helped him wade a bit out of the sea of despair he was currently flailing in.

This was the reason that during the visits, when people wanted to talk of Sirius, Remus seized on it. Being able to call Sirius every foul name he could think of while listening to others rage about him distracted Remus. Besides, as long as he was focusing on his utter fury and hatred, he could not feel the crushing betrayal hanging over him. As long as he was calling Sirius names, he didn't have to think about how he hadn't even known the man he'd happily called _brother_. But it couldn't last. All too soon, someone asked the question that Remus had run away from every time his mind peeked down the path; a surprising number of sprints in less than 48 hours. It was a fellow Gryffindor in their year, Samantha Dawson, one of Lily's good friends and the first person Remus had seen who looked nearly as bad as himself, who ventured to say it out loud.

"When do you think he started working for You-Know-Who? I mean, at school he seemed like the last person in the world you'd expect…"

_You have no idea. Even after that stupid prank in fifth year, I would never have dreamed he could do something like this. When did our friendship become pretense? How did he hide it from us? How could he do that to us- to James?_ Out loud, Remus said hollowly, "I really couldn't tell you. I would never have believed he was capable of something like that." _Understatement of the decade._

Samantha shook her head sadly. "I guess in the end he just wanted to be accepted by his family. The need for the approval of your family will cause people to do the craziest things."

"I suppose." _Except James, Peter, and I were Sirius' family more than the Blacks ever were. Whatever made him do this, it was not the need for parental praise. It had to have been the power. He always liked being in control, liked hexing other people just because he was talented enough to do it. Could I really have trusted him all these years? Did he ever care for any of us? And if he did, how could he have changed so much without us realizing it?_

Samantha leaned forward and squeezed his hand, saying softly, "I have to get going. I just want to say, though, that you're holding up remarkably well given- everything. If you ever need to talk or anything, please come find me." She stood, then leaned down to give him a brief hug before letting herself out.

When she was gone, Remus smiled humorlessly. He couldn't think of a time when he'd ever held up _less_ well. He had simply learned very early in life to mask his feelings. Although the cause for this was something he'd much rather had never happened, he was very grateful for that training now. If he were acting how he _felt_, he'd still be rocking back and forth in a corner weeping. Or throwing breakable objects with great force. It alternated with what he was thinking about, but at this exact moment he'd probably go with the weeping. He didn't have long to brood in peace, however, because within a quarter hour the next well-meaning visitor was knocking on his door.

Late in the evening, his manager from Flourish and Blotts stopped by. He offered the usual I'm-sorry-for-your-loss speech, then said very kindly that Remus would not face any repercussions for not showing up to work the past two days and that he could take as much time off as he needed. Remus blinked at this; it had not even occurred to him to contact his employers, much less go into work. He'd pretty much forgotten that a place called Flourish and Blotts existed. During his shock at this and guilty apologies to the manager, it was the first time, if only for a few moments, that he completely shook off his grief. A few minutes later, after the manager had left, it was the first time he realized fully just how much he had shut down since Halloween. What he couldn't force himself to do was care. What did the rest of the world matter when his was shattered?

He didn't cry at the funeral. Remus Lupin did not lose control in public. He calmly accepted hugs and handshakes, tears and whispers, standing alone at the back of the church as mourners filed in. Once more alone in the front row, he listened to the quiet and not-so-quiet sobs behind him with only an imperceptible tightening of the shoulders. He did feel slightly guilty for the empty space on either side of him, because people were jammed up against each other in the back, even spilling out into the foyer. But no one challenged his sole right to the pew traditionally reserved for immediate family. When he stood up to give the eulogy, his voice did not even waver; the crowd before him did not know how many times he'd had to re-copy portions because his normally neat handwriting was illegible or the ink had run so badly as to be indecipherable. A few people, like Samantha, commended him for his strength, but only a few. Most on approaching him seemed like they did not know what to do, and compensated by reacting with everything from awkward hugs to stilted, trite words of comfort. He was unused to this outright gentle concern of a world he had held himself distant from. Even at his mother's funeral people hadn't treated him like this. It was during a much-later conversation with Albus Dumbledore that he learned that no matter how collectedly he held himself, everyone who looked at him could see the devastation in his eyes. James' and Lily's funeral broke his spotless record for hiding his emotions from the world.

Transparent devastation notwithstanding, Remus was quite alone before the single marble headstone he'd ordered to stretch over both graves when the tears started to burn. Unable to face the names and dates, he found himself reading the epitaph over and over again: _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death_. He didn't really get it; Dumbledore had requested it and, unable to come up with anything he thought really did his friends justice himself, Remus had agreed. The words began to blur and Remus relished the physical discomfort of the wind stinging his wet cheeks and the cold November seeping through his threadbare cloak. They were mercies compared to the stinging and cold he was sure he would never stop feeling within. He would never know how long it was before the epitaph came into focus once more (he still could not look at the names or dates). He only knew that it barely had when a soft voice behind him very nearly made him tumble into the freshly-turned, already stiff earth at his feet.

"It means learning that death is not an enemy at all. Everyone does, sooner or later. The lucky ones are those who realize it in life. For once you have learned that death is not an enemy, beyond the veil doesn't seem so terrifying, does it?" Dumbledore smiled slightly as Remus turned slowly to face him. The smile widened a bit at Remus' perplexed expression. "You have not learned it yet. James and Lily hadn't, either. You are too young. So young…"

"I'm not afraid to die," Remus said, a bit defensively.

"I did not say that you were. In fact, I am sure you are not. I am sure right now you are wishing you _would_ die." Remus started to try to deny that statement, but stopped; Dumbledore's gaze always seemed to find the truth. "You need not fear death to see it as an enemy. You simply feel that death is something bad, something evil even. I felt the same for many years past your age, though I too lost my family earlier than anyone should have to. Someday, Remus, you will understand what I mean when I say that death is not evil, and should not be hated or shunned any more than coming-of-age."

Remus tried very hard to reconcile this sentence with logic, but he could not make it work. After several moments, he turned back to the epitaph. "Thank-you, Professor… I'll take your word that understanding will come." When after a minute or two Dumbledore hadn't spoken or made to leave, Remus was a bit annoyed. Perceptive as the Headmaster was, he had to know Remus wished to grieve in solitude. "Was there something else, sir?"

"Yes." Dumbledore's hesitant tone made Remus turn around and meet his eyes once more. "James' and Lily's cottage has been preserved the way the curse left it as a symbol of what violence can do. It is now invisible to Muggles. The downstairs is still mostly intact, and some of their possessions undoubtedly escaped harm. Someone needs to go through them and remove what is worth saving."

Remus was suddenly very uncomfortable. His heart beat rapidly. "And by someone you mean… me?" The crooked nose dipped slightly in assent. "But whatever is salvageable is Harry's."

"Yes. I need you to go to the Potters' cottage and remove anything you think might be of value to him when he is older. I will keep it all safe until he is ready. I wish I did not have to ask you to do this, but you are the only person left who would know what James and Lily would want their son to have. I know it will not be easy, and I am sorry."

"You want me to go _now_?" Another nod. The air around Remus turned suddenly thick and he gasped for breath. He only barely kept himself from curling into a fetal position right there on ground as the thought of going into the place where James and Lily died passed through him. For the first time that day, his voice shook as he replied, "I can't, Professor. Not now. Not yet. I'm sorry."

Dumbledore did not argue. "It must be done soon. I have placed protective charms on the house; you need only identify yourself as a friend to enter. The truth spell will confirm it, and let you pass. Bring what you collect to me at Hogwarts." He hesitated once more, and then brought his hand down firmly on Remus' shoulder. "You have been through more than most people ever even dream of enduring, and have come through everything with your spirit still whole. I have rarely been so proud of a student, and I am sure that- though it does not feel like it now- you will do the same again. I will remind you once more- my door is always open to you, Remus Lupin."

With that, Dumbledore dropped his hand and stepped past Remus, who watched as he crouched with his fingertips against the white marble before him. He remained that way for several moments, head bowed, before he rose and began to walk away. Remus saw the glisten of wet on his cheek as he passed without a word. He turned and watched until Dumbledore stepped outside the kissing gate that marked the entrance to the graveyard and Disapparated into the dusk.

Remus returned to work on Monday. He had a feeling that his manager had not been expecting him back quite so soon, but anything was better than sitting around the house with nothing to do but think. When he was busy he could, if not forget, at least push his grief to the back of his mind. Some of the older clientele, parents of his former schoolmates, recognized him as a friend of James' and tried to bring him up while Remus was helping them ring up their purchase, but he politely refused to talk about it. Most people, however, chattered happily about Voldemort's downfall, about how they finally let their children play outside without sharp supervision and how at last they were sleeping without nightmares of the Dark Mark, without a thought or care about what their conversation was doing to the clerk stocking shelves a few feet away. After all, Remus gave no indication whatsoever that this talk was hurting him. Besides, he could hardly ask them not to talk about the sole topic heard in Wizarding establishments everywhere. For Wizardkind, 31 October and 1 November spanned two universes- one with Voldemort and one without. They could hardly be blamed for rejoicing. And while Remus did not _blame_ them, he did despise them for it. By rejoicing in Voldemort's downfall, in Remus' mind they were very nearly dancing on James' and Lily's graves, celebrating Sirius Black's betrayal. For Remus, the two universes spanned by Halloween and All Souls' Day were not the ones with and without Voldemort. For Remus, they were the universe in which he had friends, and the universe where his friends were gone, either from life or _his_ life.

Remus settled into his new routine, going through the same motions every day. He got up, showered, dressed, and had tea and toast for breakfast before going to work. He had taken to Apparating directly into the stockroom at Flourish and Blotts. Before his new reality had come harshly into being, Remus had Apparated from his house in the country to the Leaky Cauldron, then walked up Diagon Alley to the shop. One attempt at this after Halloween convinced him that it would no longer work. Everywhere he looked he saw James, Sirius, and Peter. That table outside Florean Fortescue's, where they had sat with their packages eating ice cream at the end of each shopping trip. The display window outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, where he had shaken his head, laughing, as the others drooled over whatever new model stood there. Inside Flourish and Blotts was bad enough (this aisle was where they had picked out books on Animagi summer after second year; this one, where James and Sirius had gotten _Hexes Your Enemies Don't Want You to Know About_ for use against Snivellus) and there he had work to distract him.

He also began asking for overtime, voluntarily working hours after the shop closed every day, cataloguing and cleaning. This way he could arrive home and collapse into bed without excuses to himself, sometimes even tired enough to sleep without nightmares. He treasured these times, because most often he awoke with tears running down his cheeks from dreams where James and Lily screamed for his help as their house blew up while he was held captive by Sirius whose laugh sounded high and cold like Voldemort's. Invariably, he would spend the remaining hours until dawn staring wide-eyed into the dark trying to convince himself with logic that he was not to blame for James' and Lily's deaths.

His birthday on the seventeenth passed with only a card from Christina, Sirius' former girlfriend, to note it. All throughout the day he replayed the argument he'd had with James at the cottage, the day after they'd moved in; Sirius had dropped by his house the night before to give him the location so he would be able to visit. James had been insisting they would throw Remus a small, quiet party at the cottage, just the four of them, Lily, and Harry. Remus had been insisting now was not a time for parties, and that they should not go to the trouble. James reply echoed in Remus' mind as he lay exhausted in bed after another 12-hour shift, as it had been doing since he woke up that morning: _But, Moony, all the more reason to celebrate together- who knows if we'll get to next year?_ James had won the argument, and Remus would give anything in the world to be sitting in the cottage with him tonight, holding Harry and toasting his 22nd year with a shot of Firewhiskey. But instead, he was alone with yet more blasted tears (did they never run out?) sliding down his face, wishing that he could have stopped time while he was 21.

Full moon came a week after his birthday. It was, bar none, the worst he'd ever experienced. He made his way out to the shed about ten yards into the woods from his house earlier than usual, while he still felt strong enough to walk. Usually he lingered in the house until about half an hour before sunset, but usually he had friends on either side supporting him. He waited, shivering, on the floor, unable to think of anything but previous months in the shed. James, Sirius, and Peter had built it for him about a year after Hogwarts, as his basement was not big enough to hold them all. For nine months, he had transformed alone again, and woken under the care of his mother, who would have been extremely suspicious if he'd said he'd rather spend full moon with his friends (obviously not knowing about Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail). When she died, Remus had tried to convince his friends he would be all right and not to come after full moon; of course, they had. After seeing firsthand and unadulterated what he did to himself without them to distract the wolf, they had immediately decided it could not go on. And thus, during a week when they knew Remus was away on an Order mission, the shed was born. Remus had not transformed alone since.

When he came to in the morning, he could not believe the pain. It took several moments for him to realize why there were no whispers of _he's coming 'round_, no gentle hands wrapping bandages around the worst of his injuries. Once he did, it was still a few minutes before he managed to drag himself over to the strongbox Sirius had cleverly thought to put in, and find the potions he'd put there the night before. He downed a vial each of pain-relieving, blood-replenishing, and healing potions, in that order. With the pain dulled to a pulsing fire instead of sheer torture, he began, slowly and clumsily, to tend his own injuries for the first time in his life. He wasn't sure how he made it to the house afterward, only that it included a lot of falling to his knees and somehow dragging himself back up. He missed James and Sirius- the Sirius he had known, not this strange power-hungry traitor- more than ever as he realized anew how much he needed them. While they had always positioned themselves on either side of him to let him stand upright and save his dignity, Remus held no illusions; he knew they supported his full weight and effectively carried him inside each morning following the full moon. Until now. Remus was only too glad to collapse onto his bed and let the dark unconsciousness of post-transformation sleep, too heavy for nightmares to pierce, take hold of him.

It took Remus an unprecedented five days to recover fully from the transformation, although he returned to work after two. No one had questioned it when he sent an owl saying he was ill; any one of his coworkers would say that he had been looking like he was heading toward total collapse for weeks. And no one questioned it when he returned, either, still constantly tired and stiff from concealed injuries that were healing far more slowly than they should have been. But no one cared enough to ask after his health, either; not even his manager, who at least knew of the losses he'd endured, bothered to ask how he was coping. And now there was no Lily to fuss over him, to tell him he was even thinner than usual and please come over for dinner. There was no James to notice the ever deeper shadows under his eyes and take him out to The Three Broomsticks, plying him with butterbeers until they had sorted through whatever was wrong. No Peter to drop by, see the state of his house, and clean it himself before sitting in front of the fire with him in silent comfort. And certainly no Sirius, to tell him to snap out of it and gather the others in a matter of minutes for a night of all-out carousing just to make sure he did.

So, although the effects of even the worst of full moons had long worn off, Remus looked if anything worse weeks later. On an evening when there was no overtime to be had (Flourish and Blotts' stockroom had never been so organized, the catalogues so up-to-date, the shop so clean), Remus sat before his living room fire without Lily's food, James' butterbeer, Peter's company, or Sirius' plans. Empty-handed, he stared into the dancing flames and thought of a time when he was happy, but the remembering hurt too and before long he resorted to his usual fallback of practicing Occlumency, trying to shut his mind off from the painful reflections that insisted on entering.

It was this he was doing when there was a knock on his door. Remus started. Any sympathy visits had long since ceased. There was no one left to just drop by, and when there had been they never used the door. They simply Apparated directly into the house; family did not stand on polite customs. With a wariness born of too many years of war, Remus kept his wand raised as he went into the hall and opened the door. When he saw who stood on the porch, his jaw dropped first and his wand a moment after.

"Moody!"

"Yeah, it's me, but you lowered your wand too soon," the older man growled, "Shoulda asked me a question, first, see? Something only the real me would know. What if I were a Death Eater who'd used Polyjuice Potion, eh? As it is, I am Alastor Moody, member of the Order of the Phoenix, and the first time I met you was in Dumbledore's study the day after you graduated, when he asked you if you were 'prepared to fight with everything you have for a better world.'"

Remus blinked. Moody had that effect on people. Quietly, he said, "We're not at war anymore, Moody, in case you hadn't noticed." There was more than a little bitterness in the simple statement.

"Doesn't mean there aren't bad people out there. Constant vigilance! Are you going to let me in or what? Been on my feet all day and I'm still not used to this damn thing," Moody demanded, leaning heavily on his staff.

Remus' eyes moved down to the clawed foot, still almost shiny, visible under Moody's robes. He remembered the battle, barely a week before Halloween, where the Head Auror had sustained the curse that cost him his leg. Remus wasn't sure when he'd gotten out of St. Mungo's, but remembered him on crutches without the prosthetic at James' and Lily's funeral. He stood back to let his friend and one-time boss inside. In the kitchen, he made tea and then the two of them faced each other across the weathered table.

"You look like hell, Lupin," Moody commented.

He didn't answer. He knew how he looked, and he didn't care. Why should he? What did it matter when-? He forcefully turned his attention back to the middle-aged wizard opposite him. He tried to think of something to say, but he hadn't spoken many more words than "thank you for visiting Flourish and Blotts" and "good morning/afternoon/evening" for over a month. What were people supposed to talk about when their world had been ripped apart? He started to wish Moody would leave, despite the fact that he'd just arrived. For about two minutes while making tea, Remus had welcomed the visit for its distraction, but just the attempt at conversation forced him back to the thoughts he'd been blocking. Moody hadn't been there five minutes and Remus was already drained from the effort of human interaction. Hoping to hasten the moment for Moody's departure, but still attempting politeness, he asked, "Any particular reason you dropped by?"

Moody remained silent a moment, surveying the twenty-something lad in front of him. The grey eyes of a broken old man looked back from a face that was barely more than a boy's. He leaned forward, saying gruffly, "Look, Lupin, I know you've had a rough time of it-,"

Remus snorted involuntarily. _You think?_

"But," Moody continued in a slightly louder voice, "that doesn't mean you have to sit around, locked away in this house, like the world has ended! You can't wallow in your loneliness forever!"

Remus stared, and without thinking said, "I'm not wallowing."

"And I'm Merlin!" Moody retorted, "It's called wallowing when you sit around thinking about how terrible life is going to be from now on and refuse to take the slightest steps toward becoming a functioning human being again." Remus opened his mouth, but Moody cut off the objection before it started. "And what you are doing is not _functioning_, it's drifting through your duties like an Inferius!"

Anger was beginning to override Remus' shock. Uncharacteristically nastily, he shot back, "Am I not allowed to grieve? Is there some new Ministry proclamation forbidding werewolves from mourning, too?"

Moody didn't rise at the barb. "Of course you're allowed to _grieve_, but you also have to live! I never took you for such a quitter, Lupin."

A spark jumped in Remus' eyes. "I'm not quitting. There's just nothing to fight anymore." _Trust me, if Sirius weren't safe in Azkaban I would personally kill him… and he knows it. If Voldemort were still in power… I'd go after him, too, prophecy or no prophecy…_

"Not entirely true. You know what Dumbledore said- Voldemort isn't dead, which means this war isn't really over. If and when he regains his powers, there are enough Death Eaters who've evaded capture that he'll have a fair army right off the bat. No, the war isn't over. It's more like a truce, possibly a very long truce, while both sides count their losses and, if they're smart, strategize."

Moody was getting at something. Remus frowned, the rusty wheels in his mind beginning to turn with interest again. "What are you suggesting? I go hunt down a wizard who doesn't even have a body?"

"No. If what that prophecy- yes, I know about it- says is true, then Harry Potter will be the one to kill Voldemort. But you can help him."

Remus' eyes widened. Help James' son? He would give anything in the world to be able to do that. He had been willing to devote his life to raising him, and would gladly give his own life for that of the baby's. "But I'm not even allowed to_ see_ Harry. How am I supposed to help him defeat Voldemort? _You_ well know that the Aurors are the ones hunting down the remaining Death Eaters, and I can't even help out with that anymore, can I?" The bitterness was back, more prevalent. Moody's presence opened a wound much older than that of Halloween.

"If it were up to me, you would be. You were shaping up to be a damn good Auror. But I have no power to overrule the Minister of Magic, or to make him see how ridiculous his prejudices are. If it makes you feel better, Black is not going to be given a trial. He will rot in Azkaban for what he's done." Moody's calm voice morphed into snarl for the last bit.

It did not make him feel better. It had not occurred to Remus that it must have been Sirius, as the spy, who had leaked word that he was a werewolf to the Minister, who would never have thought to dig the file with Remus' status out of its dusty vault. A fresh wave of betrayal swept through him; Sirius, who had kept his secret all through school, had gotten him kicked out of Auror training. Remus looked up at Moody, feeling guilty. He knew it was thanks to the Head Auror that the Minister had agreed not to add a note to Remus' job history stating what he was, as long as Remus never attempted to seek another job within the Ministry, thereby allowing him to find other work. He sighed. "I apologize, Moody. That was uncalled for. But I ask again- how am I supposed to help Harry when I can't even whittle down the number of servants Voldemort will have when he returns?"

"You can be ready to fight with him when the time comes. And you can prepare. He's going to need someone who knows the sorts of Dark Magic Voldemort will use, and how to defend against them. Someone he trusts to teach him these things, a go-to for defense information. Who better than his dad's best friend?" Moody paused. "I heard you were always a good student, Lupin."

Remus' head snapped up from studying a stain on the table. "Dumbledore put you up to this, didn't he?"

Moody looked pleased. "Like I said, shaping up to be a damn good Auror. Yes, Dumbledore put me up to this. He said a talent like yours is too good to allow to go to waste- and that you're too stubborn to look for help when you need it, so we'd better hand it to you on a silver platter. So, here's the deal. Dumbledore would like you to consider going off and learning as much about Defense Against the Dark Arts as humanly possible. You were top of your year in that subject by a long-shot, he says, and that year contained Potter and Black, so it's saying something. The Order of the Phoenix has disbanded, so it's not an official mission. But Dumbledore thought that it might help you to know you were doing something for Potter's son, and that you might actually enjoy it. What do you say?"

Remus gazed at the wall behind Moody, his mind racing in a way it hadn't since that night- _ahead_. He'd be helping Harry. He'd learn everything there was to know, and one day he'd teach it all to James' son. Together, they would defeat Voldemort. Then there would be time for reminiscing and eventually he'd persuade Harry to call him Uncle Remus, like he always should have… Visions of a distant, rosy future faded as Remus fell back into reality. What about his job? Could he just up and quit? Well, he didn't really like it that much, after all…. But what about _money_? He had a small amount saved up in his Gringotts account, but it certainly wouldn't last forever. He supposed he could get odd jobs wherever he was studying; he'd go Abroad, where people didn't know him, and hope they didn't figure out what he was. No one ever had, really, except for James, Sirius, and Peter; everyone else who knew had been told. And if they did, he could always move to the next stronghold of Defense knowledge. And what did any of these things really matter, anyway, because he'd be _helping Harry_? Which, by extension, meant he would be helping James. And that, certainly, was a worthy life's goal.

"I say yes."

"Excellent." Moody threw back the last of his tea and pushed himself up on his staff. The muscles in his face tightened, although he did not wince; Remus only noticed because he was so used to hiding pain himself. He wondered how long the injury would bother the Auror, and how much he really let it slow him down. Not much, Remus guessed, accompanying Moody to the door. Moody paused on the threshold. "I'll be informing Dumbledore of your decision. I think he wants to give you some ideas of how to get started. He'll be very happy to hear it."

"I suppose he will. He likes getting his own way," Remus said, but fondly.

"Usually because his way's the best," Moody agreed. He clapped Remus on the shoulder. "But I wouldn't have come if I didn't think you were ready to handle it. Everyone has it rough sometime, Lupin. You aren't the first, and you won't be the first who learns how to move on, either. See you around." With that, he limped down the walk, let himself out of the gate, and Disapparated.

Remus watched the spot long after he'd gone, wondering why the gruff, almost harsh words were the first to leave him with a sense of comfort.

_A/N: So I know this was angsty, but consider what Remus is going through right now… sorry if it made anyone cry and/or vomit._

_Questions, comments, criticisms, words of wisdom, perhaps? Then review! All reviews responded to._


	3. A New Direction

_**Insert standard not-JKR disclaimer here**_

Chapter Three: A New Direction

Remus gave his two weeks' notice at Flourish and Blotts the next day. He started making lists of the things he would bring from home, the things he would need to buy, and what would be left behind. He unearthed a large camping rucksack that had belonged to his Muggle grandfather from the attic. Now that he had made up his mind, he wasn't going to hesitate. When his shocked manager, who was loathe to lose the man who was seemingly his most dedicated employee, asked him why he was quitting all of a sudden, Remus gave him a watered-down version of the truth. He explained that he was going Abroad for a while, somewhere new, where a fresh start could be made free from the haunting memories of happier days. And this was a large part of his eagerness to begin; Remus could not wait to be free of Britain, could not wait to be someplace where he did not see his friends at every turn. Even his house was no longer home, not with a thousand memories in every room, not with the ghosts of the Marauders and Lily in every chair, on every surface. He resolved to be out of the country by the new year.

He was not surprised in the least when a Hogwarts owl soared through his window a few days after Moody's visit. It took off as soon as he relieved it of its burden, apparently not expecting a reply. Remus opened the heavy envelope to find two sheets of parchment and another, sealed envelope marked _To Whom It May Concern._ He scanned the first sheet.

_Dear Remus,_

_ Alastor Moody has informed me of your decision to assist Harry Potter by intensively studying Defense Against the Dark Arts. I cannot express how pleased and proud I am that you have made this choice. I have enclosed a list of places that would be excellent for your research. Also enclosed is an open letter of recommendation on your behalf to the government of whichever country you travel to. Unfortunately, I know of the prejudices our world holds against werewolves, but this should assure that your condition does not prevent your settling in the place of your desire. The letter is enchanted to be used multiple times; whenever the seal is broken, a duplicate will appear in your pocket. I wish you both the best of luck in your studies and the healing that only time can bring. If you would do me the favour of dropping in before you leave, it would be most appreciated._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Remus glanced at the second sheet, which contained the promised list, and then picked up the sealed envelope with a sort of reverence. Very few wizards could promise a werewolf unconditional government acceptance, but Albus Dumbledore was one of them. Remus was very touched that the headmaster would put his reputation on the line like that for someone as unimportant as himself. Then he thought that if James heard him calling himself "unimportant", he would threaten to hex him. Then he cried.

* * *

On his last day of employment at Flourish and Blotts, Remus took advantage of the 25% employee discount to buy several large packages of parchment, a number of bottles of ink, and three new quills. His manager raised an eyebrow, but Remus simply settled his face into a no-questions expression. It was one he had gotten quite good at over the years. He would use the supplies for taking notes on the Dark and Defensive Magic he studied. After perusing the list Dumbledore had given him, he had settled on beginning at the National Library of Defensive Magic in Ireland. This would take him far enough away that nothing was familiar, but prevent him from worrying about any language barriers. It was also located conveniently just outside Wicklow, one of the four all-magical villages in the country. He had already been in contact with the Ministry of Magic in Dublin. They were dubious about allowing a werewolf to move to Ireland for an undefined amount of time, but the head of the Magical Creatures department agreed to meet with him.

In the meantime, he visited Gringotts and emptied his vault of the carefully hoarded savings, all but an emergency reserve fund of three Galleons. For the first and last time in his life, he exited the bank with a full money bag. Trusting in Dumbledore's word that the Irish government would not refuse him a visa, he visited the village of Wicklow several times searching for a flat at a decent price. Just before Christmas, he found one that, while on the poor side of town and shabby, was not so filthy or derelict that it was in danger of being shut down by health officials. His apartment was only three small rooms (kitchen, bedroom, bathroom), but it came with a basement that, though only slightly larger than a shoebox, would serve for his transformations (not that the proprietor knew that). At only a Galleon a week, it was a steal. He signed a contract beginning 1 January 1982, and put down a month's rent in advance.

The date for his meeting with Irish Head of Magical Creatures department arrived more quickly than Remus would have guessed, consumed as he was taking care of moving details. The wizard, a Mr. O'Doherty, had set the meeting for two days before the full moon. Remus strongly suspected this had been on purpose, so the other man could catch Remus feeling his worst and have an excuse not to grant him a visa. He was clearly not sympathetic toward the effort it would take Remus to Apparate so far at that time of the month. However, on the appointed day Remus dressed in his best robe and appeared at the Apparition point inside the Irish Ministry lobby 15 minutes prior to his scheduled meeting time. He leaned briefly on the wall, gathering his strength after the exertion, before walking toward visitor check-in without an indication that he was anything other than completely healthy. The witch at the desk informed him that the office he sought was on the fifth floor and pointed him toward the shiny steel lifts.

"Hello," he politely greeted the secretary upon finding the correct office, "My name is Remus Lupin and I believe I have a meeting with Mr. O'Doherty."

The witch scanned a piece of parchment in front of her. Her eyes widened, and she glanced quickly back up at Remus, looking frightened. Practically jumping backward, she said, "I'll inform him right away." She disappeared through the door behind her.

Remus suddenly found the floor very interesting. Of all the things people felt against werewolves- distrust, hatred, repulsion- he thought fear was the worst. As if he was going to spring forward and bite someone at any given moment. As if he were nothing but a vicious and bloodthirsty animal rather than a human being whose most violent action to date had been hexing Death Eaters just badly enough to render them unable to evade capture by Aurors.

"You can go in now," the secretary said as she returned, looking extremely relieved that she was not about to be left alone in the room with him. Still examining the floor, Remus thanked her softly and entered the office.

"Mr. Lupin," Mr. O'Doherty greeted curtly, "Sit." He nodded to a wooden chair before his desk. Remus obeyed. Mr. O'Doherty did not offer his hand. He got straight to the point. "Tell me, what interest would one of _your kind_ have in settling in the Emerald Isle? Not enough victims in Britain?"

Calmly, Remus answered the question at face-value. "I wish to study extensively at your National Library of Defense. I would like to peruse it top-to-bottom, which, as I understand, is an endeavor of several years."

"And why would a half-breed like yourself do want to know so much about Defensive Magic? Going to wage a war against wizards?" Mr. O'Doherty sneered, "Ireland has enough citizen-born werewolves without inviting more in to defile our country. Study elsewhere."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts has always been a keen interest of mine, and I have read that your library is one of the best sources on it," Remus replied calmly once more, still outwardly ignoring the insults. He reached into his pocket. "I have a letter of recommendation here." He held it out, and when Mr. O'Doherty would not take it from his hand, placed it on the desk. The other wizard picked it up. As he read, shock and then something close to fear passed over his face before it settled on an expression of resigned displeasure.

"You have friends in high places, Mr. Lupin," he said coldly, "Albus Dumbledore writes that you are working on an undisclosed project for him and that should our government hinder you, they might find themselves without his support in the future. Which, I hardly need say, would not gain me any favors with the Minister." He pulled a parchment and quill toward him. "I shall give you an open-length visa. But if _one_ complaint, _one_ report, about a werewolf reaches me from Wicklow, I shall deport you back to England immediately. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Remus said, relieved that Dumbledore had come through for him, "I assure you, there shall be no problems." _No one will know about a werewolf living in Wicklow._ He took the visa as Mr. O'Doherty shoved it across the desk, and stood. "Good day." The only response was a rude wave of dismissal.

Alone in the lift, Remus allowed himself a deep sigh. He sagged against the wall, fighting dizziness. The tense meeting had been very draining. It had been quite some time since he'd had to deal with the prejudices against werewolves that directly. There had been stories in the _Daily Prophet_ of anti-werewolf protests or laws, and there had been times where he'd either overheard or been part of a group in which there was talk of anti-werewolf sentiments. But it had not been directed at him. Not since that day when the Minister of Magic had gotten word of what he was and kicked him out of Auror training. And after that, there had been the other Marauders rallying around him, roundly abusing the Ministry and trying to cheer him up. With that thought, in an instant that sucked the breath out of him, he realized he had subconsciously expected that this time. He had expected to go home to have James, Sirius, Peter, and Lily remind him that he was worth a million of people like O'Doherty. Until now, the fact that their absence was what was causing this string of events had not registered as their not being there to beat down his resurfaced insecurities. Suddenly not feeling strong enough to Apparate, Remus changed course halfway across the lobby and headed for the fireplaces.

* * *

Everything was ready. His rucksack was packed with all he would need living in Ireland, his clothes and important books and necessities squeezed into it with the help of an Enlargement Charm that expanded the insides without changing the outer dimensions. Another charm made it feather-light, and a final one shrunk it to fit comfortably in his pocket. The rooms of his house had been sealed against dust and theft. He'd been through them at least five times, making sure he was leaving nothing behind. With all this done, it could not be avoided any longer, as much as he wanted to. That was why 31 December 1981 found Remus standing outside what was left of the Potters' cottage in Godric's Hollow.

He pushed at the gate, but an invisible force repelled him. Remembering Dumbledore's instructions, Remus glanced up and down the deserted street, then murmured softly, "I am Remus Lupin, fellow Marauder and friend to James and Lily." There was a pause, then the gate yielded, the magical barrier opening to let him through. He made his way slowly up the sidewalk, recalling each of the other times he had done so, half-expecting at any moment for James to bound out crying, "Moony!" or for Lily to open the door and smile, Harry on one hip. Of course, neither of these things happened, and the doorknob yielded to Remus' turn. He stepped inside and sneezed; no dust-prevention spell had been performed. He wondered why as he siphoned the dust away with his wand, until he realized there was really no reason. He took a shuddery breath. He would not cry. Not again.

For several moments, he merely stood in the hallway. Directly in front of him a staircase began to lead to the upstairs, but the top was blocked by rubble. To the left was the kitchen and pantry, to the right the living room and James' study. Taking a deep breath, he started with the easier side and turned left. The kitchen, which had been right underneath the nursery, was exposed to the open air. Half-standing walls surrounded a room covered in debris, the contents of the cupboards spread among plaster and brick on the ground. What captured Remus' attention, though, was the table. A chunk of ceiling had fallen on it, smashing it to the ground and snapping the legs off. Pain so intense it was physical swept over Remus. He could not count the number of times he had sat at that table. It was there they'd gotten drunk the night James learned he was to be a father. There Lily had fussed over him in the days following full moons, putting portion after portion of his favorite dishes in front of him. There the four Marauders had last sat smiling and laughing, forgetting the war that raged outside their walls. The fact that it was gone brought home to Remus the finality of James' and Lily's deaths in a way nothing else had quite been able to. The three of them would never linger there over cups of tea again.

After what felt like his entire adult life had flashed before him, Remus tore his eyes away from the table. He began to search for anything salvageable; there was not much. Strewn across the ground, fallen out of their box, were Lily's recipe cards, but most were damaged beyond repair. Gingerly, for he was still a bit stiff from the full moon three days previously, he knelt and began to sift through them, pushing bits of roof aside. After a meticulous process, he was rewarded with two complete, still-legible recipes: double-chocolate cake (his favorite) and cinnamon sticky buns (James' favorite). He placed them gently into the box he'd brought, considering the treasures of Lily's slender handwriting well worth his sore muscles. One day he'd tell Harry all about the story behind James' love of the sticky buns.

He moved back across the hall into the living room. While the roof was still intact over this, it too showed signs of abuse. Holes in the wall and broken furniture marked it as the place where James and Voldemort had dueled. Remus stepped on something squishy and looked down; it was Harry's stuffed Snitch, part of the set Sirius had gotten him last Christmas. Staring at the dust-covered toy, Remus nearly choked on the betrayal in the air. He pushed his thoughts onto his task and dusted off the toy, putting in the box. He would simply not tell Harry whose gift it had been. He moved over to the mantel. The glass covering the photos there had been shattered, but the pictures themselves were intact. One showed James and Lily holding newborn Harry, another them opening presents on his first Christmas, and a third Harry getting cake all over himself on his birthday while his parents beamed. Remus put them in the box. The final picture on the mantel showed a proud Sirius holding Harry in a church on his baptism. That one Remus set afire with a jab of his wand.

There was nothing else worth saving in the living room, so Remus moved with trepidation into the study. It was the first room that was mostly the way he had last seen it, although books had fallen off the shelves and papers off the desk, presumably from the force of the spell backfire. All he had to do was close his eyes and he could see James sitting in front of him, either grinning in welcome or oblivious as he scribbled on a piece of parchment. Steeling himself, he moved to the desk. The first thing that caught his eye were the three photos on the desk, still in their frames despite the broken glass. The first two, one of James and Lily on their wedding day and the other of James standing next to Lily's hospital bed in St. Mungo's while she held Harry, he placed in the box. The third photo was of four eighteen-year old boys under a beech tree. It had been taken on their last day at Hogwarts. All four of them had their arms around each other's shoulders. Remus stood between Peter and James; Sirius was on James' other side. He could not bring himself to set this one on fire. He stared into the tiny photographic Sirius' eyes as the figure waved cheerily up at him. He saw joy and excitement and love, but no hint of deception. And then he was sure. Whatever had happened after they left school, on that last day Sirius had still been theirs. Remus slipped the photo into his pocket.

The study proved to hold the most salvageable material for Harry. Remus found letters, both received and unsent by James. Tucked into a copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ was the first love poem he'd ever written for Lily, back in fifth year. It was awful, but it went into the box. Assorted snapshots were gathered into an old tea tin that had fallen to the floor; Remus memorized each one before dropping it into the box. A careful search of the volumes on the bookshelf yielded Lily's diary, which Remus had heard James complain about (he was not allowed to see it). It went into the box unopened. The last things Remus went through were the desk drawers. He found some more old correspondence between Lily and James as well as the bulletin and menu from their wedding, and the _Daily Prophet_ article announcing their marriage. In the bottom drawer was an unopened parcel addressed to James from Gladrag's Wizardwear in Hogsmeade. On the brown paper packaging was scrawled in James' script: _For Moony's bday_.

Remus' breath caught. James, knowing he was going into hiding, had obviously pre-ordered him a birthday present, meaning to wrap it properly when the actual day got closer (and by this Remus meant five minutes before the party was to begin). With trembling fingers, he undid the paper. It came away to reveal a thick, black cloak edged in red embroidering. The slight shimmer it gave off when moved indicated a powerful Impervius charm (to repel water), and the inside was lined with soft, warm Puffskein fur (the docile animals grew fur at an amazing rate, and enjoyed being sheared). His eyes widened- this cloak was top of the line, and very pricey. Why would James spend so many Galleons on him now? It wasn't like he was coming-of-age or anything. James' words came floating back to him: _But Moony, all the more reason to celebrate together- who knows if we'll get to next year_? A tear slid down Remus' cheek.

When he left the Potter cottage some time later, his threadbare cloak remained behind, draped over the desk chair.

* * *

It didn't occur to Remus that the Headmaster might not be at school on New Year's Eve until he was walking up the front steps. He thought back to the times he'd stayed over the holidays and definitely remembered Dumbledore being there, but was still a bit nervous at he knocked unannounced on the study door. He needn't have been; Dumbledore called out for him to enter almost as soon as he started.

"Remus! What a pleasant surprise," the professor greeted politely, "Please, sit."

"You asked me to come see you before I left, sir," Remus said, obeying, and without further preamble held out his box, "I've done what you requested at the funeral. This is for Harry." He set the box down, glad to be rid of it. He could not bear to see James' and Lily's life together reduced to a shoebox full of odds and ends.

"Thank you. I know it cannot have been easy," Dumbledore said softly, studying the too-slumped shoulders of the man before him, "Are you managing all right?"

Remus started to say "fine" and stopped; there was no lying to Albus Dumbledore. He shrugged. "I wake up every morning and remember they're all gone. But most mornings it takes a little less time than the one before to master the knowledge and go about my day. I guess that's managing."

Remus saw ocean-depth empathy in Dumbledore's eyes as the old man gave a small smile. "Yes, that is managing. I will keep these things safe for Harry, until he is ready. You may know that I have James' invisibility cloak as well, which will also be passed on in due time."

Remus nodded. James had told him about Dumbledore wanting to borrow the Cloak to examine it. A sudden thought struck him. "The Cloak goes to Harry on his first Christmas after coming to Hogwarts. James got it then, and Mr. Potter said all the first sons have gotten it that way for as long as anyone can remember."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I shall take care of it. Harry will continue the tradition."

Remus took a deep breath. He had to ask now before he lost his nerve. "Give me the Dursleys' address. I have to see him before I go. Harry. I have to see him."

The other man shook his head slowly. "I don't think-"

"Please. I won't approach them, I promise. They'll never know I was there," he begged, "I just have to see him one more time."

Dumbledore gave Remus another of those searching gazes before pulling a piece of parchment toward him and writing down _4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_. He gave it to Remus. "I wish you luck with your studies. I do not think you will regret taking this assignment on. Important as it is, I would like to remind you that it need not take over you. You are still a young man; you deserve a social life."

"James, Lily and Peter deserved _lives_," Remus answered quietly. He was tired of Dumbledore telling him that he would heal in time. What did he know about it? He saw again in his head the depth of empathy in the professor's gaze moments ago, and wondered what it was about. What did Dumbledore know of having his entire world torn down around him? What could the most powerful wizard of the century possibly know about losing everything you loved in one fell swoop? He had not been able to save the friends that had done so much for him; he did not deserve to live at all, much less to enjoy it. The best he could hope for was to devote everything in him to repaying his debt by helping James' son. He glanced down at the parchment in his hand, and when he looked up again the empathy was back in the gaze directed at him.

"Yes, they did. But they would not want yours to stop because theirs have." Dumbledore held the grey eyes with his blue ones, reading the irrational anger, the pain, and knowing Remus would not hear this statement yet. He had not either after Ariana's death. But Remus would remember this conversation when he was ready, and that was what was important. "I will write, from time to time, to see how things are going. Until we meet again, Remus." He offered his hand.

"Thank you, Professor." Remus shook it. "Goodbye."

* * *

The first cold sunrise of 1982 dawned on a Disillusioned Remus, sitting without moving on a brick wall. Petunia would have to come out of the house with the boys at some point, and he planned to be there when she did. He needed just one glimpse of Harry to keep in mind, one image to draw on when his determination wavered. He sat there, actually quite warm in his new cloak, until mid-afternoon. Then Petunia emerged with one fat baby, to whom she was cooing lovingly, on her hip and another dark-haired one in a carrier on her back. Both were bundled well enough against the cold, but it was obvious that the baby in the carrier was wearing the fat one's hand-me-downs. Petunia walked right by the garden wall on her way to the corner shop. Remus barely breathed as Harry looked straight at him, almost as if he saw him, with those eyes that had come to be the exact shade of Lily's. He memorized the downy jet hair sticking up around the edges of the blue hat, and the innocently curious expression that was vaguely reminiscent of James on the miniature face. He longed to cry out "Hey, little guy!" and hear Harry respond with "Remie", as he had recently begun doing, but restrained himself. Petunia must not know he was there. He watched until long after they had disappeared before standing stiffly and turning on his heel into the suffocating darkness, heading for Ireland.


	4. Settling In

*_Insert standard not-JKR disclaimer here*_

Chapter Four: Settling In

Remus' natural tidiness, which had been absent the past two months, reasserted itself as he settled into his new flat. His kettle and tea tin went on the kitchen counter. Two plates, mismatched sets of cutlery, bowls, glasses, and mugs he arranged into a cupboard. He wasn't expecting to ever have visitors, but it seemed prudent to be prepared. Also, it made him feel less lonely to bring two of everything. Once he purchased them, the bread and butter got the other cupboard. He hung his towel and robe from the hooks on the bathroom wall, lined up soap and shampoo on the shower shelf, stocked the cabinet above the sink with toothpaste and the potions for following full moons. He sorted his clothes neatly into the wardrobe. His books he stacked on a corner of the desk in the bedroom. Opposite them he set up a quill and ink bottle, for editing the notes he would take at the library. He slid a stack of parchment along with a second quill and ink bottle into the same bag he'd used through the last three years of Hogwarts (it had been a gift from Peter on his 16th birthday), and tucked the spare supplies into the desk drawer. He propped his photo of the four Marauders against the lamp on his nightstand. His new cloak from James he placed carefully on the peg on the front door as soon as came into the flat.

Remus allowed himself to devote one week solely to study in the library before he searched for a job. A well-trod dirt road led from the outskirts of Wicklow upward to the castle in which the library was housed, which was situated on a foothill that further up turned into the mountain proper. It was perhaps a fifteen minute walk from Remus' flat. He liked making the trek by foot rather than Apparating, as it gave him time to shake off the nightmares and focus himself on his task. The first time Remus approached the library, he wondered why all storehouses of magical knowledge seemed to be castles. Wouldn't they blend in easier if they looked like Muggle universities and office buildings? This train of thought was cut off the moment he entered the castle doors. In the middle of the entrance hallway was a large circular desk behind which sat two witches and a wizard. One of them cheerfully greeted Remus, and upon learning that he meant to study in the library, gave him a pamphlet outlining its resources.

The castle was smaller than Hogwarts, only five levels, and had been built originally as a private home, while Hogwarts had been intended for a school. The basement was used for storage, and was off-limits to the public. The ground floor was devoted to defensive magic concerning creatures, the first to spells, and the second to potions. Of course, many documents overlapped these areas, but they were placed on a level according to the topic they most largely concerned. The top floor consisted of some offices and the Archives, a series of rooms containing rarer and more valuable manuscripts. These could only be accessed with direct written permission from the Head Librarian. Remus planned to achieve this at some point, but not until he had gleaned everything the other floors had to offer.

So it began. Every morning for a week Remus arrived as soon as the library opened at nine AM, and did not leave until it closed at seven PM. He then went to the town tavern, the Golden Goblet, and bought dinner: a bottle of butterbeer and either stew or a sandwich, the cheapest menu items. None of the other guests approached him, and he made no attempts to reach out. When he finished, he invariably laid down seven Sickles (two for the butterbeer, four for the dinner, one as a tip for the waitress), and went back to his flat to edit the day's notes. When he had filed them away, he undressed and got into bed to wait for another night of restless sleep. At eight, he rose and started all over again.

The ninth, a Saturday, was full moon. It was the first day Remus did not go to the library. He wondered if the friendly witch at the welcome desk would question his absence. He hoped not. On Tuesday, when he had sufficiently recovered, he left the flat at the usual time but headed into town instead of out. He needed to find a job; his funds would not last forever, and he needed to support himself while he studied. He would look for signs and if he found none, begin inquiring at the local shops. Some stores would hire clerks even if they weren't actively seeking them. He wandered the main street up and down, peering into display windows, then walked through the side streets as well, even venturing into the more residential areas in search of businesses, perhaps family owned but in need of extra help. Not one building bore a "Help Wanted" poster. He purchased a newspaper, the _Castle Courier_, from the post office and scanned the classifieds. The only job offering was an opening in the Ministry in Dublin for a tea boy. Definitely not feasible, with what the Irish Ministry knew about him. He tucked the paper into his pocket and went to begin asking shop managers if they needed extra clerks.

Late that evening, after a fruitless day, an exhausted Remus made his way to his usual single-person table in the back corner of the Golden Goblet. The waitress that made her way to him after a bit was one he had seen around but not yet met. He noticed as she took his order that she had a small, thin scar just where her neck met her left shoulder. He always tended to notice others' scars, he supposed because he had so many of his own. He was the one to notice the scar on Sirius' back at the beginning of their sixth year, as they changed into pajamas that first night, and wring the story about his mother's attempts to curse him as he left the house with his trunk out of him. Remus tensed in his seat, lowering his eyes to the rough wooden table, and forced his thoughts back onto the day's search. When the waitress returned with his order, he thanked her politely and turned his attention to his soup, but the girl remained standing at his table.

Abruptly, she said, "You've come here too many days in a row to be just passing through. What's your business in Wicklow, Mr.-?" She left the name blank with a questioning look.

"Lupin. Remus Lupin. You are correct; I've just moved to Wicklow in order to study extensively in the National Defense Library," he answered. He didn't ask her name, but she supplied it anyway.

"Ah, another scholar. I thought you might be," the waitress grinned, "I'm Lyra Doyle, and my parents own this tavern. If there's anything I can do to help you settle in and feel at home here, please let me know. It's so seldom we get anyone new in town!"

Remus was about to thank her and politely decline when a thought struck him. "Actually, there is something you can help me with, if you'd be so kind. Do you know of anywhere that's hiring at the moment? I'm looking for a part-time job."

Lyra appraised him. "You know, you might just be in luck, Mr. Lupin. Our weekend bus boy just got accepted into Healer training and is leaving for the hospital in Dublin tomorrow. I'll talk to my parents about setting an interview for you. But just now I believe I'm keeping other customers waiting, if you'll excuse me." She left with a quick smile at him.

Remus stared after her for a moment, unable to believe what he had just heard. After having spent all day futilely searching for a position, one practically fell into his lap via a chance conversation. He was very glad he'd decided to take a risk and ask the girl. He dug into his food, the unpleasant thoughts of earlier forgotten.

* * *

"Mr. Lupin!" Lyra called to him the moment he entered the nearly deserted pub at two the next afternoon, the time she'd set up for an interview.

"Miss Doyle. Am I on time?" he returned courteously. Best make a good impression if he was to get this job. He'd put on his nicest robe, the same one he'd worn to the Irish Ministry. He hoped it brought better luck today.

"Please, it's Lyra, no one in town calls me by my surname," she answered, waving her hand, "And you are perfectly punctual." She grinned a little at her alliteration. "Come 'round the bar to the back. My parents are expecting you."

Remus followed her to where a fifty-ish witch and wizard were relaxing at the table of a large kitchen. Lyra waved her arm at him. "Mum, Dad, this is the scholar I was telling you about: Remus Lupin."

The man held out a hand. "Ian Doyle, Mr. Lupin. Have a seat, and we'll talk over the position."

Remus shook hands and sat down. The woman now offered her own hand. "Maddie. Just Maddie. Cup of tea, Mr. Lupin?"

Unable to refuse politely, Remus accepted and sipped it while listening to Ian talk about the kind of employee he was looking for. "The shift runs from 4 PM to 2 AM Thursday through Sunday. You'd be a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, but mainly a lot of bussing tables and washing dishes. You'd help with the cooking too, under Maddie's direction. Once I've trained you up a bit, should I have an errand to run, I might ask you to bartend occasionally. Oh, and of course bringing things up from the stockroom, sweeping, stuff like that. How are you with your household spells, Mr. Lupin?"

"Quite proficient, I like to think. When I shared a flat with my friends in London, I was designated housekeeper." Remus managed a smile with his words, fighting the urge to swallow.

"Could you start immediately- tomorrow? We're in a bit of bind with our old bus boy leaving for training so suddenly; he had to be in Dublin three days after he got his acceptance letter," Maddie asked.

Remus nodded. "My schedule is quite open, my only other engagement being my research." _And full moon._

"The pay isn't much, I'm afraid," Ian added almost apologetically, "Just one Galleon a day, but you get two half-hour breaks during your shift, as well as one free drink and meal."

Remus did quick mental math, the kind that made Arithmancy the only subject aside from DADA that he'd beaten James and Sirius in. 4 Galleons a week. One for rent, a bit over one for meals his three non-working days, and seven additional Sickles to purchase his weekly loaf of bread, quart of milk, and pat of butter. That left one Galleon, six Sickles most weeks to add to his savings. It would do. "That's fine. I don't need much." He smiled again, willing it to meet his eyes.

"Well, in that case, you're hired, Mr. Lupin. Unless you give me some reason to be dissatisfied with you, the job is yours for keeps. Any questions?"

He had to ask; he always had to ask, no matter how it reflected on his job chances. It seemed safe enough this time; surely Ian wouldn't think it too suspicious. "What about days off if I need them? With my research, I may be going to some out-of-town seminars that occur on weekends."

Ian shrugged. "As long as you let us know in advance it shouldn't be too much of a problem. We can't give you extra shifts to make up for the hours lost or pay you for them, but as long as you don't decide not to come in at the last minute it won't reflect badly on you."

"That's good. Thank you." Remus drained his teacup. _In advance I can do… even if I didn't know the lunar calendar by heart, my body would tell me._

"Well then, Mr. Lupin, it looks like I've got my new bus boy. I'll see you at four o'clock tomorrow." Ian held out his hand once more as he rose.

"Tomorrow," Remus affirmed, shaking it, "Thank you very much, Mr. Doyle."

"You can let yourself out the kitchen door, Remus," Lyra added as she gathered empty mugs, "You come in that door too, whenever you're working."

Remus thanked everyone once more and let himself out into a little alley, glancing at his watch- 2:45. Still plenty of time to get studying done in the library. After today, he would study only until 3:00 Thursdays through Sundays, so he had time to return to his flat and file away his notes before work. He walked along the path to the castle, relieved to have found a job. Relief- was that really all? He searched within himself, but it was the only feeling he could muster. Happiness was certainly out of the question, but he found he couldn't even manage satisfaction. He could not help thinking, conceitedly perhaps, that the job was rather beneath someone of his skills. But it was the only one to be had, and the Doyles seemed to be nice enough people. The thought that he might write James and Sirius letters to receive the words of comfort he knew would come in response popped into his head. A second later, he realized the impossibility of this. A chill that had nothing to do with January passed through him. He visualized curious green eyes in a tiny face and marched determinedly onward.

* * *

The weather warmed gradually— very gradually— as winter ceded reluctantly to spring. Remus was fairly certain he was beginning to wear a faint rut into the trail from the library to his flat. Ian Doyle had told him more than once that he set his watch by Remus' arrival in the kitchen of the Golden Goblet at 4 PM sharp. The Doyles had embraced him cheerfully and completely, proclaiming him within a few weeks to be the most dedicated employee they'd ever hired. Following the lead of the tavern owners, the rest of Wicklow had absorbed him into their midst. He could no longer walk down the street without greeting half the people and while he still ate alone in the dining room of the tavern whenever he was not working, it was no longer for lack of invitations. Remus was polite to everyone, of course. He could not afford not to be; he needed the town's favor, which would ward off suspicion. He knew how to play the game. He'd had seven years' practice; at Hogwarts, where you knew everyone in your year at the least, you had to know how people viewed you and make sure you fit neatly into a safe slot in their minds. Working in London and living in the country he fallen out of the habit, as there was no one to notice him in either place (one being too crowded and the other deserted). But he fell back into the old ways easily, like putting on a long-misplaced coat again.

So he participated in Ian's man-to-man chats (_yes, the Cannons are doing awfully this season)_, weathered Maddie's mothering (_I promise I eat enough_), and smiled at Lyra's teasing (_If I do have a lover, why would I tell you?_). He answered the townspeople's questions as scantily as possible without arousing warning bells in them, but never volunteered personal information. By May, he had moved onto being able to discuss the weather and their own lives with them— at least with the regulars at the tavern— which nearly always diverted their attention away from him. It was another skill he put into use once more with ease. Meanwhile, though the realization that his dearest friends were either dead or a traitor was still the first thing that came into his consciousness each morning, the nightmares lessened. By Easter he awoke in a cold sweat with Sirius-Voldemort's laugh ringing in his ears perhaps only once a week. Instead, when he dreamed at all, he dreamed of the Golden Goblet and the Doyles and the library— and Harry. This last one he relished, being able to spend his sleeping hours sitting on a garden wall in Little Whinging just watching the baby, a single moment that stretched for eternity— until his alarm went off.

Just before May's full moon, which fell on a Saturday, Remus was working as usual at washing dishes in the Golden Goblet's kitchen. He never allowed himself to take more than two days off for full moons— the one on which it actually fell and the one following that. With the transformation less than 24 hours away, he was already feeling ill, but he simply ignored his migraine to work in weary silence. He knew that his friends would never have let him do so, knew that they would have forged a letter to his boss saying he was ill should he even try to go in. They actually _had_ done that once, after which Remus yielded to their demands that he give himself three days off for each full moon. He knew that at least one of them would have been dropping in to check on him and try to get him to eat tonight. After more than six months without them, he could still hear their voices in his head, could still feel Lily's soft hands perhaps touching his hair comfortingly and the Marauder's strong ones guiding him up to his room to rest. After more than six months, it still took everything in him to lose control when these memories came to him in public.

"You're very quiet tonight, Remus," Lyra said, sitting down at the table with a plate of food, clearly on her break, "You've hardly said a word since you came in. Are you excited about your conference tomorrow?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes… I've just finished looking at the thestral documents in the library, so it's perfect timing for the Dark Defense League's conference on them," he replied, lying easily about the excuse for missing work he'd given, "Pity it's only a two-day event."

"Well, there's only so much you can say about thestrals."

"You'd be surprised," Remus smiled, turning back to supervising the dishes that were scrubbing themselves under the direction of his wand. He hoped Lyra would let him concentrate; even a simple spell such as this was difficult to maintain steadily so near to full moon. He glanced at the clock above the door— midnight. Two more hours. He could make it.

"So you're getting a lot of research done up at the castle?" Lyra asked. "What kind of project is it you're working on again?"

Remus sighed inwardly. Why should he ever have expected that energetic Lyra would be able to sit quietly? But he answered, "I'm not allowed to divulge the specifics of my research for Professor Dumbledore, as I've said before; don't think you can trick me into telling you just because I'm a bit tired tonight." _Or even because I feel awful from being on the verge of transforming._ "But yes, I am getting a good amount of research done."

"So have you started looking for the hidden room yet?" she asked with a smirk.

"The what?"

Lyra's eyebrows raised. "Come on, don't tell me you haven't heard of it. You can't have been here nearly half a year, in the library practically every day, and not have heard the legend."

Remus sat down across from her as the last of the dishes settled onto their shelves, clean and dry. He was glad to have a moment of free time to relax, but even feeling as he was his curiosity was peaked. "Well, I haven't. Why don't you rectify the problem?"

"Gladly." Lyra cleared her throat dramatically and began to speak in an accentuated, storytelling sort of voice, "Well, long before the castle was converted into a library it belonged to the Healy clan. It started off as just a hall with a couple of rooms around it, but in the Middle Ages it was expanded by Cleary, who was head of the family at the time, into what it looks like today. Cleary was a scholar, and studied magic under some of the greatest tutors of the day. He travelled the world bringing priceless artifacts back home, including some of the manuscripts that are still in the Archives of the library today. Apparently, a number of these contained some instructions for some pretty powerful Dark magic, to which he was trying to find the counter spells. One day, Cleary's daughter was alone in his study, and the story goes that she attempted one of the spells from one of these manuscripts— and died. All they really know for sure is that Cleary's youngest daughter did die at only nineteen under mysterious circumstances. Anyway, so the legend continues that Cleary realized it wasn't safe to keep this material lying about, but nor could he bear to forsake his project entirely… so he instructed the workmen who were expanding the castle at that time to build him a secret room in which he could put his most dangerous manuscripts and continue his work, then he surrounded it with a bunch of powerful concealment spells. When he died, he didn't leave any instructions on how to get in… and people haven't stopped looking for it since."

Just as Lyra finished, Maddie came in with a fresh stack of dishes. Remus got to his feet, trying his best to make it seem like less of an effort than it was. "Well, that was a nice little tale, but I can hardly believe that it's actually true… but I thank you for the entertainment." He went over to the sink to begin washing the new dishes.

"Lyra, what nonsense have you been filling our scholar's head with now?" Maddie mock-scolded.

"I was just telling him the hidden room legend!" Lyra pouted, "It could so be true."

"Ah," Maddie said, and turned to her pale young employee, "She's got a point there, Remus. A lot of people seem to think there really is a hidden room… there's always someone searching for it."

Remus shook his head and focused his attention on his work. Unbidden, an imaginary conversation came into his head.

_Really, Moony? Let's look for it! _Sirius' eager voice said.

_Yeah, a hidden room— it would be so cool. We found the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts; I bet we can find this one too. Padfoot and I'll fix a weekend to come down and stay with you to do the search_, James' voice added.

His back to the Doyle women, Remus smiled sadly as he inspected the plates and directed them to begin drying themselves.

_A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Bittersweet x, amazing reviewer of **every one** of my stories, with apologies for the wait. As always, all reviews are encouraged and responded to._


	5. Curiosity and Questions

_**Insert standard not-JKR disclaimer here**_

Chapter 5: Curiosity and Questions

Remus couldn't get the story of the hidden room out of his head, try as he might. He knew it was ridiculous and yet… castles had secrets. It was a common fact of the magical world. For Merlin's sake, he had spent the better part of three years mapping out the secrets of Hogwarts, and still he would not presume to say he knew them all. While the Marauders had seen a bit more, he doubted most of the students who had passed through Hogwarts in the last thousand years had so much as _thought_ about more than a tenth of the secrets it contained. Why should the library-castle be any different? Yes, it was smaller. Yes, it could not possibly house the amount of secrets Hogwarts did. But why could it not have just one? And why should he not be among those to search for it? He was good at searching for hidden things within a castle; he had learned from the best.

The logical part of Remus told him that this rationalizing was the result of his desire to return to his boyhood. He wanted to go back to the days of Hogwarts; while he could not call them carefree, he could call them happy. He wanted those days back again so much it hurt almost physically. He would gladly endure once again the daily jeers of the Slytherins if it meant that his evenings could be spent penning the Marauder's map rather than washing dishes or editing notes. So on a conscious level Remus did know that his persisting thoughts about the legendary hidden room were only an attempt to keep his friends' memories alive. It was only a way to pretend that things could be as they were when the Marauders were whole. And yet… if he found it, this hidden room could have a tremendous impact on his study. He could discover previously unknown Defense against the Dark Arts methods, if this Cleary's experiments had any merit to them. He need not take much time out of his studying to search, and Dumbledore had told him he was entitled to a social life. A voice at the back of his head told Remus that solitarily searching for a hidden room was not what Dumbledore had meant, but he ignored it. So… why not?

It was this much stronger mental argument that won out over Remus' logical side. He began to use one hour a week to search for the hidden room. He did his research first. He got Lyra to tell him everything she knew about the legend, and consulted the friendly witch behind the library desk, Irene. Irene was talkative on the subject, telling him all about the different places previous searches had found most likely. She said that if he wished, she would ask the Head Librarian to give him permission to go down to the basement, which he eagerly agreed to. Despite how frequently Remus was in the library, he had yet to meet the Head Librarian. He gathered from Irene that it was a largely ceremonial position, given to the eldest son of the Healy clan in thanks for the donation of the castle and collection. The current Librarian was young, just in his twenties, and cared more for the high life of Dublin than the quiet, secluded Wicklow. He only came for brief visits every so often, fulfilling most of his scant duties from the city.

Remus did his searching every Monday, in the first hour of library-opening, when it was emptiest. The work was slow, for he was meticulous in examining every possible surface for hidden doors or springs or spells. He mapped as he went, drawing the boundaries of the rooms with the same carefulness for which he had earned himself the task at Hogwarts. He recalled easily but not without sadness the charms he, Sirius, and James had looked up in their fifth year to enchant the Marauder's map. James had mastered the technique to password-protect it first, but Sirius had been the one to figure out how to get it to insult others who tried to read it as it if were their 15-year-old selves. They were always the first to master anything, although Remus was never far behind. Slowly, his new map began to take shape.

* * *

Remus came to consciousness slowly and lay still, gasping for breath in the pale September dawn. In the half-second before he was fully aware, there was still a part of him that expected careful hands to be tending him. Then he was awake and he allowed himself a few moments to master his pain, both physical and emotional, before dragging himself over to the strongbox to pull out his potions and bandages. While not used to it— he doubted he would ever be used to it— Remus had become more adept at tending his own wounds post-transformation. He deftly wrapped bandages around his deepest cuts before he picked himself up off the basement floor and stumbled up the stairs to his bed, where the pain disappeared in sleep once more.

"Speak of the devil! There's our scholar!" Lyra cried the next afternoon when Remus came into work.

"Your ears must have been ringing, dear," Maddie smiled. "We were just talking about you. How did your meeting go?"  
The lie Remus had come up with for missing two days this month (full moon had fallen on a Friday) was that Dumbledore wanted him back for a report of his studies. He smiled back. "Perfectly well, thank you. Professor Dumbledore is pleased with my progress thus far."

"You didn't tell me you were going to be gone half the weekend," Lyra said accusatorily, glaring at him. She made a pouty face.

"I told your father, as _he_ is my boss," Remus' eyes twinkled. "Why, did you miss me?"

"Not at all," she replied haughtily, and flounced away to return to the main room with her head in the air.

Remus burst out laughing as soon as she was gone. Lyra could brighten his mood even now, when he was still stiff and achy all over. Maddie shook her head after her daughter, and looked at her employee. "She likes you, you know. You're from outside Wicklow, so she pretty much thinks you're a god."

Remus hung his cloak up and pulled his wand out to start on the waiting pile of dishes, saying lightly, "I like her, too. She's a very spirited young woman."

"And you're a very bright young man," she pressed.

Remus flushed, but shook his head as if he thought it were funny. "Is this a match-making attempt?"

It was Maddie's turn to flush red. She snatched up a tray of food with her wand and hurried toward the front of the tavern, objecting, "Of course not. Would I do such a thing?"

Remus knew that Maddie _would_. She loved matchmaking, and was constantly gossiping about who was or was not together in the town. As Wicklow was such a small town, however, there was not a lot of relationship-meddling to be done. Maddie hadn't had a chance to set anyone up since Valentine's day, when she got the son of the postmaster and the daughter of the tailor, both fresh out of Hogwarts, together. She was itching for new relationships to arrange, and all the better if her own daughter could be one of the participants. Remus had often heard Maddie bewail her daughter's constant single status. But even if he were ready to date someone, he couldn't risk it. It was not safe to let anyone get that close to him. Besides, he wasn't interested in Lyra that way. Yes, she was cheerful and vivacious and optimistic. He liked talking with her, and she made him laugh, which was something he had nearly forgotten how to do. She was pretty enough, even though she had too many freckles spreading across her nose. But he wasn't interested in her, as Sirius would put it, _that_ way. Of course, Sirius had only rarely said that about girls; he was nearly always interested. Remus finished his work and sat down to wait for more, wondering how he had managed to yet again pull his once-friend into an inner monologue that had nothing to do with him.

The evening seemed to drag on. The workload was light for all, except around the dinner rush, and even that wasn't heavy. Sunday family dinner was a tradition that was still alive and well in Wicklow, and that meant most people stayed in, although occasionally families would come to the tavern and often people would drift in for an after-dinner drink or a nightcap. But on the whole, Sunday was always one of the Goblet's slower days. For this Remus was grateful; it was everything he could do to conceal his exhaustion as it was. He was halfway through his break, savoring Maddie's hot potato soup, when Lyra dropped into the seat next to him with a dramatic sigh.

"I hate Sundays."

"What do you mean?" Remus asked, surprised, "Sundays are easy. A far smaller crowd than the rest of the weekend."

"Yeah, but everyone brings their families, which makes the trays of food heavier. My arms are killing me." Lyra slumped back into her seat, letting her arms hang at her sides as if to prove her point.

Remus' first thought was that she did not know anything about real pain, and his second was that he hoped she never would. But the comment gave him an opportunity to question her on something he'd noticed and been wondering about for a while. Smiling to give the question a lighthearted air, he said, "You do have a wand, you know."

He saw something in Lyra's face flicker slightly before she shrugged cheerfully. "Yeah, but I've always liked good old-fashioned hard work. There's just something about using your hands that magic can't satisfy, you know?"

The question was rhetorical, so Remus left it unanswered, but the truth was that he didn't know. He liked his maps, yes, but the joy in the that for him lay in the discovery process, not in the drawing of lines. He had never been as strong physically as his friends, except once a month— and that was a strength he neither remembered nor wanted. Lycanthropy tended to wear on the sufferer's human body, both from the injuries inflicted every month and the inherently draining nature of the condition. That was not even weighing in the psychological tolls. At the moment, however, Lyra's response intrigued him in what it said about _her_ far more than in what it said about him. And so he asked the other question that had been bouncing around in his head the last few weeks. "How old are you?"

"Remus!" Lyra said, shoving him playfully. The corners of his mouth tightened in pain, but she was too busy scolding him to notice, thankfully. "Haven't you learned by now that there are three things you never ask a woman about: her age, her weight, and her virginity?"

The last comment caught Remus off-guard; he had not expected innocent Lyra to make a sexual joke. But he recovered and cajoled, "Come on, humor me. If you don't, I'll have to guess, and I'll make it really high…"

Laughing, she gave in. "All right, all right. As you're the only one in town who doesn't already know anyway, I suppose I can tell you without sacrificing my dignity. I'm 21; I'll be 22 in January."

A year younger than himself. "So you were just a year below me at Hogwarts? I don't remember you…"

This time Lyra looked away. "I didn't go to Hogwarts."

"Oh, Beauxbatons then? That would explain it; I'm just used to most Irish going to Hogwarts instead of over to the Continent. Do you have relatives in France?"

"I didn't go there, either. I didn't go to magic school."

This silenced Remus for several moments. He knew what it was like to grow up thinking you weren't going to be able to go to school. He very nearly hadn't himself, until Dumbledore became Headmaster. But Lyra was perfectly normal and healthy. "But then, who—?"

"My parents," she replied before he finished his question, "My parents taught me, mostly, although I had a few tutors here and there, in the subjects they weren't confident in. Neighbors, usually. Mum and Dad preferred it that way. They didn't like the idea of having me away most of the year."

Remus still couldn't understand what kind of parents wouldn't want their child to go to Hogwarts. He could see that Ian and Maddie were both very skilled, and undoubtedly had the ability to teach their daughter well, but why deny her the best magical education in Europe? It couldn't have been a matter of money; Remus knew for a fact that there was a fund to help families who needed it with tuition and things. That must be why Lyra tended not to use magic when she could avoid it; she was not confident that she was as good as those who had been properly schooled. A voice in the back of his head told Remus that he had pressed enough for today, but for once curiosity won out over caution.

"Do you ever wish you had gone to school?"  
Lyra stood very quickly. "Honestly, Remus! Not everyone has to do things the normal way. Being homeschooled _worked_ for me; I passed all my OWLS just like you did, only in a private session. I wouldn't change my childhood for anything. There's no need to be so condescending! Having gone to Hogwarts doesn't make you better!" She stalked out of the room.

Remus stared after her. He had never meant to imply that he thought he was better than her… he would never presume to think he was better than _anyone_. Except Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but they hardly counted. He suspected Lyra wasn't being quite truthful with him, because it was unlike her to lose her temper. In fact, he couldn't recall ever seeing her angry before tonight. He wanted to know more about why she had been homeschooled, but asking Maddie or Ian was out of the question. He could not risk his employers reacting in a similar way to their daughter. Remus mentally berated himself for letting his curiosity get the better of him. He had forgotten the cardinal rule for a werewolf trying to blend in with society: do not give people a reason to be on their guard around you. The best thing for a werewolf to do was live as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, not attracting attention to himself. After years of living among friends that already knew about his condition, he had stopped being as careful as he should. _They're not here anymore_, he told himself harshly, _Get used to it and start remembering your place in this world._ He would not draw attention to himself again. No more questions. Just polite small talk, work, and diligent study. That was his place.

Maddie came in, guiding a stack of dishes to the sink, flashing a smile at Remus. He stood, expression not betraying the twinge it caused his stiff muscles, and smiled back as he got back to washing.

_A/N: Apologies for the long wait. The last couple weeks of term were simply insane. I hope this chapter makes up for it. To my American readers: Happy Thanksgiving! As always, reviews are always encouraged and responded to. _


	6. How Do You Measure a Year?

**_Insert standard not-JKR disclaimer here_**

Chapter 6: How Do You Measure a Year?

He knew before he opened his eyes. It had never meant much to him before, but now it was everything. And he couldn't believe it was here. He lay still for several moments after silencing his alarm with a tap of his wand, allowing himself the lag in his usual quick jumping out of bed. He had always been up and dressed before the others in the dorm, excepting the days immediately surrounding full moon, and had often been the one shaking James, Sirius, and Peter awake with fifteen minutes until breakfast. Today, however, he kept his eyes shut to the morning. He wished it were due to the lunar calendar. With tremendous effort, he sat up and swung his legs over the bed. The first thing his gaze landed on was his picture of the Marauders on his nightstand. He stared at it a few moments, his eyes lingering on their laughing faces, watching the younger, miniature versions of himself and his friends waving up at him. He closed his eyes once more, breathing deeply, and when he opened them again he was focusing on the bathroom door.

Shower, get dressed, make a cup of tea and two slices of toast with butter. Eat. Clean up, make the bed. Check bag to make sure it has a sharp quill, parchment, and ink inside. Swing it over the shoulder and pause just inside the front door to fasten the cloak from James on. Lock the door with a silent spell. It was all completely normal, and yet felt surreal. Remus' head remained in dreamlike (although perhaps that was too kind a word for it) fog all the way up the usual path to the library. He greeted Irene almost without knowing what he was saying. It was only when he immersed himself in his studying that the fog lifted, and even then tendrils of it hovered around the edges of his brain. They faded slowly as he took notes on how murtlaps could be used to deflect against minor curses, once caught and trained.

By the time he gathered his things up at noon, Remus' mind had reached the other end of the scale. He was preternaturally aware of everything: every movement, every thought. He wished for the fog back as he made his way into town again, dropping his bag off at the flat and picking up his scarf before leaving once more. He headed to the Golden Goblet and entered through the front, making his way directly to the bar. He kept his eyes on the floor, looking neither left nor right, in an attempt to avoid having to talk to anyone. It worked, although it helped that the bar was only half-full with witches and wizards on their lunch break.

Ian saw him approaching, and grinned, "Remus! Aren't you a bit early? Your shift doesn't start for more than three hours! Here for a spot of lunch?"

"Just a drink, Ian."

"Butterbeer?" Ian started to reach under the counter for Remus' usual beverage.

"Not this time. A shot of Firewhiskey, please. The good stuff." Remus placed five Sickles on the counter.

Ian didn't bother to hide his surprise. "Sure." He walked to the back of the bar and after a few moments returned with a shot glass full of amber liquid, which was smoking slightly, and set it before his employee. "Celebrating the holiday?"

Remus glanced up at the black-and-orange streamers and paper pumpkins Maddie had obviously enchanted to float across the ceiling. He smiled at Ian, hoping his eyes were not once again giving his emotions away. "You could say that." He took his shot glass over to his usual table in the back corner by the window.

He stared into the Firewhiskey for what seemed like years, feeling the warmth it gave off through the glass and wishing it reached deeper than his fingertips. He immersed himself so thoroughly in his memory that he did not notice Lyra watching him as she served customers.

* * *

_"Moony, wake up! __**Wake up, **__you prat!"_

_Remus jerked away from Sirius' pillow as he came suddenly into consciousness. James and Peter were standing slightly behind him, fully dressed and laughing. He snatched the pillow out of Sirius' hands. "What the hell do you think you're doing? What time is it?"_

_"Midnight. Come on, get dressed, we're going out," James answered. _

_"Out? We can't go out." Remus lay back down and drew his blankets over himself again as if that were the end of the conversation. Sirius took his pillow back and promptly resumed beating Remus with it until he sat up once more._

_"These say we can." James held up the Map and his Invisibility Cloak. "C'mon, we're going to Hogsmeade."_

_"And why, pray tell, do we have to sneak to Hogsmeade at midnight when there's another weekend visit in less than a month?"_

_"He really can be thick sometimes for all his intelligence," Sirius said to James, and turned back to the bed, "It's midnight— correction, 12:03— on the 17__th__. Of November. 1976." Sirius paused. "Get it now?"  
Understanding dawned. Remus suddenly became fully awake. It was his birthday. He had been seventeen for three— no, four— minutes. Still, his conscience tugged at him. "Okay, I get it. But guys, I'm a prefect. I can't just go breaking the rules whenever I feel like it."_

_"Never seems to bother you on full moon. Come on, Moony, this is a momentous occasion. It's not every day a Marauder comes of age," James insisted._

_"Don't worry, we won't get caught," Peter promised, looking terrified at the possibility._

_"Worm's right. This is hardly the first time we've prowled Hogwarts by night. Now get your arse out of bed and let's go, or we won't get there in time." Sirius whacked him with the pillow once more, for good measure._

_Remus got out of bed and began pulling on clothes, his reluctance fading into excitement. "In time for what?"_

_"In time for The Hog's Head to still be open. Can't risk The Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta knows us too well and she might just report us to Dumbledore if we walked into her pub at 1 AM on a school night," Sirius explained._

_By this point Remus was ready. James rapped him and Peter sharply on the head with his wand, Disillusioning them, while he and Sirius squeezed under the Cloak. Gone were the days when all four of them would fit under it. It was extremely tight even to fit James, Sirius, and Peter on full moons, to get them down to the Whomping Willow undetected. James watched the Map as they crept to the mirror on the fourth floor. Once they slipped into the passageway behind it, they power-walked for twenty minutes until they came up in an alleyway of Hogsmeade. The trapdoor faded back into the concrete the second Peter dropped it behind him, vanishing to anyone who did not know the password. A clever addition on the Marauders' part to improve Hogwarts' system of secret passageways. They headed down the street to the pub, Sirius in front._

_Remus had gotten over his guilt for the time being, wrapped up in the thrill of the adventure. Before becoming friends with James and Sirius, he would never have considered stepping out of line like this, much less guessed that he would do so and not even care. Before meeting James and Sirius, he hadn't had anyone to do so with. He and Peter were alike that way, though for different reasons. He hung back at a table with Peter as the others approached the bar, where a sleepy-looking elderly man leaned against the counter._

_"We need a fifth of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. Unopened. The oldest year you have," Sirius said confidently, holding the bartender's eyes, "I'll know if you're giving us the watered-down one you use here instead of the good stuff, so don't try that. We need the best you have."_

_The bartender glared and eyed Sirius suspiciously, but Sirius jingled his money sack lightly. The man shuffled into the back and was gone for what seemed to Remus like a very long time before he returned with a dusty bottle. Sirius wiped it down, peered at the label, and nodded approvingly. He and James argued with the bartender in low voices for a minute, and Remus got the distinct impression he wasn't to hear. They knew his ears would be like a normal human's just now, as it was over two weeks until the next full moon. Then money changed hands, and although Remus could not see well (he suspected James had positioned his body that way on purpose), he did catch a glint of gold and heard several coins clinking. He wondered with some guilt how many Galleons James and Sirius had forked over for what he knew was the highest-quality Firewhiskey. He knew they would never tell him. If you asked him right at that moment, Remus reflected, he would not have one single thing in his life changed._

_"C'mon," James said as they returned, "We're not hanging around here."_

_"I can't believe he let you have it! He had to know you're a student!" Peter squeaked the moment they were outside. _

_Sirius started leading them toward the edge of town. "It's my natural charm. No one can resist me." He ran his fingers through his, letting it fall back into place perfectly._

_"And your gold?" Remus suggested._

_Sirius and James looked at him sharply, but seeing only amusement and gratitude, they relaxed. Sirius answered, "Well, that didn't hurt, either." All four laughed and they continued for some minutes, now quietly as they were in the residential area of the village. When they had passed the last of the houses and started up the hill, Remus finally asked, "Where in Merlin's name are we going? Not-?" _

_James caught his half-glance toward the Shrieking Shack. "Don't be ridiculous. You think we would try to make you go there on your birthday? You wound me, Moony." He pantomimed a dagger to the heart. Remus shoved him, laughing, and a good-natured scuffle broke out as they climbed higher. After about fifteen minutes— though the steepness made it seem much longer— they finally arrived at a cave. Following the others inside, Remus saw that it had been decked out with candles, cushions, snacks, and three wrapped gifts sitting in the center of everything. Red and gold streamers floated across the rocky ceiling._

_"Whoa. You guys really planned. How did you even know this place was here?" Remus asked as they all sat on cushions._

_The others glanced at each other. Peter said quietly, "We found it during full moon last year. We wondered if you would remember." _

_The others knew that since he had been with them on full moons, he had been getting flashes of near-lucidity in his transformed state. These were becoming more frequent the longer he spent full moons with the Animagi, but the majority of each night was still lost to him. He said simply, "No, I don't remember this."_

_The silence reigned only for a second before Sirius broke it cheerfully. "Well, hurry up and start opening your presents so we can break into this bad boy." He shook the bottle of Firewhiskey._

_The slight tenseness vanished in a ripple of laughter. Remus leaned forward and grabbed one of the gifts, which Peter immediately said was his. Remus unwrapped it to find a beautiful, leather-bound copy of _Defense Through the Ages. _He had admired it in Flourish and Blotts when they were there buying their schoolbooks over the summer, but had been unable to spare the money even for the paperback after he'd bought his supplies. He hadn't known Peter had seen him. He thanked Peter sincerely and moved on to another gift, which James claimed. This one was a set of velvet-edged silk dress robes, the exact shade of silver-grey that matched Remus' eyes. They were clearly custom-made of the highest quality. Remus had never owned a set of brand-new robes, always having to purchase second-hand. His awed whisper of thanks was met with a warm smile from James. He reached for the final gift in the center, which Sirius didn't have to announce as his. This one, when Remus tore the wrapping off, was a wooden box, and he lifted the lid to reveal a wizard's chess set, the pieces carved out of black and white marble. For several moments, Remus could only gape._

_"There's one more," James said, when Remus had barely recovered his senses, "From all of us." He pointed his wand toward the back of the cave, "Accio Remus' gift!" He caught the box that flew toward him and handed it over._

_This wrapping came off to expose another box, which Remus opened to find four ceramic dinner plates. Around the edges, inscribed in flashing red and gold, were the words _Marauders Moony Wormtail Padfoot Prongs, _circling the plate so each appeared twice. He looked up, "Wow, guys… just, wow. I can't thank you enough."_

_"You already have," Sirius answered, "Besides, that last one is really a gift for all of us. We'll eat off them when we share a flat after next year." He pointed his wand behind him and waved four shot glasses over, settling one in front of each of them. Remus noticed Peter's eyes grow large; Peter still had not mastered non-verbal spells. Sirius twisted the cap off the Firewhiskey and poured a full one for each of them. "Now let's toast."_

_James raised his glass. "To Moony, the first of us to come of age."_

_Peter followed. "To friendship and Marauding."_

_Sirius raised his glass next. "To courage and loyalty and the Gryffindor spirit."_

_Everyone looked at Remus. He sat a few seconds, basking in the joy of the end of his best year to date and the anticipation of the beginning of a better one, then raised his glass in the shortest toast yet: "To us." They drank._

* * *

Remus came back to the present. He raised his current shot glass toward the window, staring into the empty street, silently toasting the past, and swallowed the amber liquid. He did not cough and splutter as he had that first time on his coming-of-age, but nor did he feel warmed by the rush of heat that spread from the stomach outward. He breathed deeply, reining in his emotions. With a flick of his wand, he sent the empty glass sailing over the heads of the patrons to land in the hand Ian held out for it. He stood and without making eye contact with anyone left the bar. Lyra watched through the window as he stood motionless in the street for several moments, staring at something she could not see, before he turned on his heel and Disapparated.

* * *

He stood on the outskirts of the village for awhile, thinking about how the little Muggle children would soon be running from house to house in their costumes, collecting candy, the smaller ones pursued by weary parents. He had always thought the Muggle tradition quaint, even if many of his friends thought it crazy. He steeled himself, then moved forward. He walked without seeing until he ran headlong into a boy, about nine. He apologized, and the boy grinned, "No problem. And nice wizard costume, mister!" As he ran off, Remus smiled slightly in spite of himself. He had not thought to change out of his robes and cloak; he supposed it was convenient that it should happen on a day where everyone would simply think he was full of the Halloween spirit. He continued into the heart of town, watching where he was going now, and that's when he saw it. The statue, a memorial for soldiers lost in combat from a distance, shivered and transformed as he approached. It became a statue of them, the three of them. He stopped dead before it, unable to tear his eyes away. The Wizarding memorial had not yet been erected when last he was there, and he wondered when it had been, and why Dumbledore hadn't told him. At last Remus came to himself, and hurried onward to the cemetery, not looking back.

He passed through the kissing gate and made his way straight toward the newest graves, stopping in front of the appropriate stone. It was still almost as shiny as the day he watched the coffins lowered underneath it; without the dates, no one would ever guess it had been there a year already. He knelt down slowly on the frost-stiff grass and leaned forward to trace the letters with his fingertip: J, A, M, E, S and, after a pause, L, I, L, Y. Remus swallowed convulsively, and whispered, "Hi, Prongs, Lils. I-I'm sorry I didn't make it by for your birthday, mate. It was just—" he choked, "too soon." And then he was weeping, sobbing as he had not in months. He sat back and pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in them. All the days of going about his work, of pretending he was fine— all the grief held back— burst. He didn't even try to rein in his emotions, as he would anywhere else or on any other day. He just waited for the storm to blow itself out. When it finally had, while still aching inside, he felt as though a 16-ton weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Allowing himself to act as he felt now and then was very therapeutic. He started to stand to leave, but changed his mind and sat cross-legged before the headstone. Although the storm was past and his emotions calmer (if not less keen), he was not quite ready to leave.

"Part of me is trying to believe it can't really have been 365 days without you already, despite what my mind knows. Some mornings I still wake up and think I'm going to swing by after work for dinner or a cup of tea, or just to tell about something ridiculous that happened." Remus spoke softly to the stone before him, the same way he'd spent the last year trying to _stop_ talking inside his head. But today he would grant himself such luxuries. "And then… the other part feels like it's been an eternity, that it cannot possibly have been a mere 12 months without all of you." He laughed humorlessly. "To be honest, if you'd asked me before last Halloween what I would do should I ever lose you guys, I would have said die. And I don't mean off myself; you know well enough that even if I felt like it, that's never something I would do. Just that I would never have thought I could withstand full moons without you guys again … I would have said that I'd survive a few months, maybe, before my body gave in. A year or two tops. Well, I've made the one… still physically intact, mostly. More scars… so much for what you said that one time at school about my having enough already. They're so much worse than I remember, the transformations; I got used to being taken care of, I guess. I hope you can't see them, wherever you are…

I also hope that you can't see where your son is, especially you, Lily. I offered to take him, Prongs… you know I would have. But Dumbledore wouldn't let me. He had good reasons, but… well, we'll see. Perhaps Petunia will redeem herself yet, Lil. I'm studying Defense again now, you know, so I'll be able to help him later. I swear I'll protect him, James, if it costs me everything. I won't fail him like I did you. I won't betray your trust like Sirius. Do you think-?" Remus stopped. He couldn't go there, even now. Not yet. He sighed heavily and rose, rubbing his arms briskly to induce feeling in them again.

"I know what you'd tell me, that it's been a year and I should be moving on. That I'm allowed to have a life. That if I really wanted to honor you guys, I'd be happy again. I'm trying, Prongs, I really am. I know it doesn't seem like it most of the time. There's this girl I work with, Lyra, and she makes me forget, every once in a while. Which is a good thing, I suppose, even if my heart doesn't think so. I can't say I'll be back to visit soon; you know me, how I focus on studying. And you know how much… effort… it takes. Merlin knows it doesn't mean I'm not thinking about you." Remus stood gazing down at the stone for a while longer, saying all the things that didn't have words to them, not in life or death. With a discreet twist of his wand, a bouquet of white roses and blue forget-me-nots appeared propped against the marker. "And James…Lily… if I didn't mention it yet— I miss you." He exhaled slowly, and crouched down to trace the letters again, but not their names this time. This time, he traced I,N, L,O,V,I,N,G, M,E,M,O,R,Y.

_A/N: The title of this chapter is a line from the song "Seasons of Love" in the musical _Rent_. Generally I don't use song-lyrics as titles, but this one was just too perfect. Bonus points to any Monty Python fans who spot the MPFC reference. Reviews appreciated (I cannot express how greatly) and responded to!_


	7. Cake, Candles, and Christmas

**_Insert standard not-JKR disclaimer here__**_

Chapter Seven: Cake, Candles, and Christmas

"Remus?" Ian popped into the back room of the Goblet. "Could you come watch the bar for a few minutes? I've got a bit of paperwork I want to take care of quick."

"Sure." Remus wasn't doing much at the moment, anyway. There were no dishes to be washed or tables to be cleaned. He had just been keeping an eye on Maddie's stew, stirring it with a flick of his wand every now and then. It was unusually slow for a Thursday night at the Golden Goblet. Lyra had assured him business would pick up as the Christmas holiday approached, between people stopping in for a drink after— or during— their shopping outings, and harried wives wanting to go to dinner more to decrease their workload after afternoons spent decorating. He took up a position behind the counter, and in moments was chatting with one of their regulars. He had been there perhaps fifteen minutes and served only a few customers when Ian returned, saying he could take over again now. Obligingly, Remus went back to the kitchen.

"SURPRISE!" Maddie and Lyra shouted, standing behind the table. A space in the center had been cleared of the various items usually covering it and a cake bearing the legend _Happy Birthday, Remus!_ sat there.

"We know it was yesterday, but you didn't work then," Ian explained. Remus jumped slightly and looked over his shoulder to find that Ian had followed and was standing in the doorway. "I hope you gave yourself the day off from your studies, too."

Remus hadn't. He had acknowledged his birthday only with memories of past years and celebrations with the Marauders, and with the thought that being 23 didn't look likely to be any better than being 22. But he didn't say this; he barely skimmed over it in his mind as he grinned and asked, "How did you guys even know?"

"You did fill out an official job application, even if it was after the fact," Ian reminded him, "Your date of birth is on there. I hope an extra Galleon in your pay this week will be a sufficient belated gift." The corners of Ian's mouth rose briefly.

"You don't have to do that, Ian," Remus protested, "You guys didn't have to do any of this…"

"Of course we did," Maddie promptly replied, coming over to hug him and pat his cheek in a way no one had since his mother's death, "It's only a cake, dear. No need to get all overwhelmed."

Lyra followed her mother and threw her arms around Remus as well, lingering just a few seconds longer. "Besides, we couldn't just let your first birthday in Wicklow go completely unnoticed. Come on, take a break; sit down and have some cake. I did the icing."

Remus wasn't due for his second break for another two hours. He looked at Ian, who nodded. "Go on, son. It's not like we're busy or anything tonight."

He sat with Maddie and Lyra while Ian went back to watching the bar. Maddie served them cake and milk, chatting as she did so. The three of them talked about nothing in particular— town gossip, the likelihood of snow before December, whether or not Ireland would make it into the playoffs for the next World Cup— until Maddie finished her cake and excused herself to join her husband.

"So you didn't stop in for your dinner like usual yesterday. Did you go back home to celebrate?" Lyra asked.

"You mean to England?" Remus shook his head. _To a dusty abandoned house in the country? There is no home there anymore. _"No, I just spent a quiet evening at my flat. I was never one to make a big fuss over birthdays." _It was always the guys who made all the fuss._

"Mum and Dad haven't let me have a quiet birthday since—" Lyra broke off abruptly, alarm and then embarrassment passing over her face in quick succession before she smoothed her expression out and amended, "Well, for a long time anyway." She shrugged. "It's a side effect of being an only child, I guess."

"I'm an only child, as well." The words were out of his mouth before Remus thought about them. Why on earth had he said that? It was against the rules to give away personal information. Somehow Lyra always got his guard down. First questioning her, now giving away information about himself. He _had to be more careful_.

"Yeah? So did you have a lot of big parties as a kid too, and now that you're on your own you're sick of it?"

Remus shook his head. _Time to steer this conversation into safer waters._ "No, not really. My Mum worked a lot and my father… wasn't around." _Ran away when I became a werewolf_. "But I'm impressed your parents always found time, while running a tavern."

Lyra shrugged. "Nah, it was easy. We just have my parties here. Most of the town comes. It does mean lots of presents." She giggled. "What does your mum do, that keeps her so busy?"

"Did. She was an Auror for the Ministry. She died in the war." _What happened to safer waters? This is _not_ what I had in mind… come on, Remus!_

"I'm very sorry." But Lyra looked really interested now. "I grew up hearing the stories about Death Eaters and You-Know-Who, read about them in the newspapers, but the war didn't touch us so much here. There were a couple of incidents, with Death Eaters wanting to take things from the library— a few people were killed in one of the confrontations; I remember, I was fifteen at the time— but it was nothing like in England. Did you fight at all?"  
Remus nearly dropped his fork. She asked it so innocently, like a student in a history class. She meant no harm. He realized he was mashing what was left of his cake to pulp. Abruptly, he said, "Speaking of the library, I've nearly finished up my studies on the first floor. Just a few more documents on winged horses and a handful of papers on the yeti. I expect to be finished by the end of the year."

Lyra watched him for several moments. Remus could practically hear the wheels turning in her head. Lyra might be innocent, but she was not stupid. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. A battle between tact and natural inquisitiveness was raging inside her. She bit her lip, then merely said, "That's good. I hope Dumbledore is pleased with all your work."

* * *

Remus sat in a dark corner of the library, trying to focus on an article called _Taming the Yeti_. Some Tibetan wizard in the 17th century had a romantic notion that it would be possible to domesticate the Yeti and integrate them into society. A footnote informed him that the author had been killed, aged 26, when he tried to seek out a Yeti den in the mountainside above his village to test his ideas. Remus rubbed his eyes and sighed, checking his watch. 2:45. He'd have to stop in fifteen more minutes anyway, to be able to drop by his flat before work. He made a final notation on the man's ridiculous theories, and put his quill down, capping his ink bottle. _Not that Voldemort would even try to use a Yeti against Harry. Foolish is one thing Voldemort is not._ He could stop a few minutes early today. It would be good to give himself extra time to walk home.

He stood slowly, drawing in a sharp breath and putting a hand to his ribs. He was fairly certain a few of them were fractured. Full moon two days ago had been another bad one. Remus gathered his things together slowly, waiting for his dizziness to subside. He had lost more blood than usual. What was he thinking? There was no longer a scale of "good" to "bad" full moons. That scale had been with the Animagi. Now they only went from "bad" to "worse" to "awful". And Wednesday's definitely qualified as "awful". He placed his bag gingerly on his shoulder and made his way stiffly from the library, smiling at Irene as he passed the welcome desk. He was glad he had sent a Patronus-message to work saying he was ill yesterday, rather than coming up with another excuse. It meant slightly less pretending for him.

Snowflakes were falling as he headed carefully down the path. The cloak from James, though, kept him warm. It still looked new, despite nearly a year of use. Remus hung it on its peg as he let himself into the flat, dropping his bag next to it. Time check: 3:20. He should edit today's notes… instead he moved toward the kettle. He really needed an extra cup of tea if he was going to make it through work. He eased himself into a chair at the kitchen table with his mug, watching the storm through window above the sink, the only one in the flat. With the weather like this, hopefully it would be another slow night at the Goblet.

It seemed he had been resting only a moment when he glanced at his watch and realized it was 3:45, time to go. He rose and noticed the dizziness wasn't so bad now, just fleeting. Involuntarily he remembered a time when by this point the moon's effects would linger only in a slight tiredness. He glanced behind him, at the picture on the bedside table, as he fastened his cloak back on. The little figures waved cheerily at him. He tore his gaze away and hurried down the street, locking the flat behind him with a jab of his wand. The snow had definitely picked up in the half-hour he was indoors. Surely the tavern would be empty… but it wasn't. The moment he walked in Maddie exclaimed, "Oh, thank goodness you're here! Quickly, get those washed or we won't have dishes left to serve on!" And she rushed out levitating a laden tray in front of her. Remus took off his cloak, having the dishes start washing themselves as he did so. He sped up the spell, making the dishes go twice as fast, but still personally inspecting each one after it dried itself to make sure it was properly clean. His attention to detail was one of the things Maddie loved most about her employee.

"Hi, Remus!" Lyra greeted cheerfully, as she opened the oven and guided several of her mother's pies onto a cooling rack, one at a time, with her wand, "Nothing like the beginning of a storm to bring the town out, eh?"  
"Actually, I thought everyone would be at home. You know, where they can be snug and warm," he replied.

"Nooo. That'll be for the next few days, if the storm gets bad. But when it's just starting up like this everyone has to come out and talk about how awful it will be, put in their guesses. It's Wicklow tradition."

"Ah, I see. I must have missed all the big storms last winter."

Lyra considered a moment. "Yeah, I don't think there were any after you got here. The really big one was just before Christmas." They were both silent for a bit. A scrap of parchment landed in front of Lyra with a dessert order for three slices of cherry pie and two of pumpkin. As she was spooning some homemade whipped cream on top of them, she suddenly asked, "Remus, are you going to England for Christmas?"

Caught off-guard, he answered automatically, "No."

She placed the plates by hand onto a tray. "Do you have family coming to visit you here? Any plans at all?"

A movement that was too quick caused pain to race along Remus' ribs for a moment, and he lost his concentration on levitating clean dishes onto the shelf. Quickly re-focusing on the dishes before they fell, he said, "No."

Lyra lifted the tray onto her shoulder with a soft _oomph_. "Well, then you'll simply have to spend the day with us. I'll tell Mum and Dad." She left for the front room.

Remus started, opening his mouth to protest, but she was already gone. He stared at the door. How did that girl get past his barriers? No one was supposed to be able to do that, not anymore. He'd just have to tell Maddie that Lyra had misunderstood. It was absolutely unacceptable to get this close to any of the townspeople, his employers included. He would spend the holiday alone. That decided, he turned to pre-slicing the rest of the cooled pies, for quicker access when the dessert orders came in. He had nearly finished this task when Maddie whisked in, flicking a now-empty tray casually over his head to rest on the counter beside him.

"Remus dear! Lyra just told me you've accepted our invitation to Christmas!" She bustled up beside him, moving slices of pie onto the tray. "We're so glad! It's always so quiet, just the three of us; it'll be perfectly lovely to have real company! And just wait until you try my special Christmas cake!" And then she was gone with the desserts.

Remus again found himself staring at the door. He almost went after Maddie, to force her to stand still long enough for him to explain that he was _not_ coming, but instead he sighed. He leaned against the counter, gathering his stamina for the night ahead. In the back of his mind, a small voice asked what he was going to get Lyra for Christmas.

* * *

Remus walked down Main Street, fighting off desperation. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and he had yet to finish picking out gifts for the Doyles. Truth be told, he had only _started_ that afternoon, but now it was past dark and he still could not decide what to get for Lyra. He was unused to having such difficulty picking out Christmas or birthday presents; he had always known just what to get the guys, and even Lily and Christina when they joined the group. But it was becoming clear just how very little he knew Lyra, for all that they talked nearly every day. Maddie's gift, a small vial of perfume, and Ian's, a banner that chanted the names of the Dublin Dragons players and had a moving mascot, were easy to pick out. But Remus had been through all the stores without anything striking him as particularly Lyra-ish. Admittedly, there weren't all that many stores. He knew he could go to Diagon Alley and have much more variety, but… he wasn't ready. He hadn't been back there since moving to Wicklow, and he was in no hurry to go back. There was no reason to stir up the memories he had run away from. Sighing wearily, Remus turned into the Golden Goblet. Perhaps he would have better luck after a supper break.

Lyra bounded over with a butterbeer in hand moments after Remus sat down at his usual table. "Hello! Are you excited for Saturday? Mum is so glad to be having company." She grinned, "Come to it, so am I. I love my parents and all, but spending time with only them gets boring." Switching subjects abruptly, she asked, "So you want soup or a sandwich tonight? Mum's barley stew is the special tonight."

"I'll take that." Remus watched her bounce away, smiling to himself. He wondered at Lyra's ability to be so cheerful all the time. Even when she was complaining about something, she managed to do it cheerfully, half laughing at herself. He gazed out at the passersby, smiling and chatting with each other as they hauled their packages about.

"What are you looking at?" Lyra set his soup down.

"Just people-watching."

"Oh, 'cause you looked like you just lost your pet kitten or something. Anyway," Lyra leaned over the table toward him, "so what did you get me for Christmas?"

He raised an eyebrow. "It would ruin the surprise if I told you now."

Lyra's eyes narrowed. "That's man-code for you haven't picked anything out yet." She straightened up. "Well, you better get a move on, scholar. Remember, one PM sharp on Saturday."

Remus ate his dinner, left a handful of Sickles on the table, and ventured back out into the cold. He was wandering slowly past shops he had already been in, beginning to think he might just go back to the bookstore and get _A Photographic History of Magical Institutions_ after all, when a sign nailed to the post office bulletin board caught his eye. It was hand-painted and read _Homemade Candles! Make great gifts! Open daily 7-7!_ An arrow pointed down a side street. Intrigued, Remus followed it for a block or two and came across what looked like a home, but the sign on the gate proclaimed it "Kira's Candles." He went up the walk and pushed open the door, entering a room filled with shelves and tables, haphazardly grouped, all crowded with candles of various molds, sizes, and colors. No one else seemed to be in the shop.

He moved slowly among the displays, finally stopping in front of some tie-dye colored candles. The colors swirled gracefully in curlicues and loop-de-loops throughout the wax, far surpassing what any Muggle artist would be capable of. One of the candles was lit and gave off the most amazing aroma. Remus could pick out several distinct threads of scent: paper and ink, Mrs. Potter's double-chocolate cake, the spring breeze as it blew across the lake to the Marauders' beech tree.

"The aroma is unique to each person. It smells like the things they love best," said a voice behind him.

Remus jumped, nearly knocking the table over. He turned around and found himself facing a woman of perhaps thirty. He glanced back at the candles. "Interesting. Do you use Amortentia in the wax?"

The woman smiled. "You know your potions, sir."

Remus smiled at that. _At least I picked up a few facts from knowing Lily so long, even if I can't brew a potion to save my life._

She continued, "I use a small amount, mixed with other potions and variations. The exact recipe is, of course, a secret." She held out her hand. "I'm Kira."

"Remus Lupin," he replied, shaking it, "So how much are these?"

"The small ones are fifteen Sickles, the medium ones two Galleons, and the largest ones five. All candles come with a box and, as our Christmas special, free gift-wrapping."

Remus considered for a moment. It was a perfect gift for Lyra; the candle would adjust itself to suit her preferences. It was also practical. The only thing was that the small ones would only burn for 35 hours, which was almost nothing. The medium ones would burn for 75 hours, but were a little more expensive than he had budgeted. He weighed the options in his mind, thinking that he could probably stretch his supply of pain potion over the next two moons and save some money that way. He picked up a medium-sized candle. "I'll take this one."

"An excellent choice. Is this going to someone special?" Kira asked as they walked toward the counter.

For no apparent reason, Remus found himself flushing, and was glad he was walking behind the shopkeeper. "Just a friend. She's one of my co-workers."

"Well, she'll certainly enjoy this." Kira slid the candle into a box, twirled her wand so that it deftly wrapped itself in wreath-patterned paper, and handed it over. She accepted the two gold coins Remus handed her. "Have a very happy Christmas, sir."

"Thanks. You as well." Remus took his package and left the shop. He made his solitary way back to his flat as clusters of chattering shoppers swirled around him.

* * *

As the library was closed on Christmas Day, Remus allowed himself to sleep in later than normal. Once he'd risen and showered, he had his typical toast and tea, then edited some of his notes, adding his own commentary and cross-references, until 12:45, when he fastened his cloak on and gathered up his parcels. As he stepped in the frozen street, he wondered again how the Doyle women had talked him into this. As instructed, he let himself into the tavern through the unlocked alley door. One of the surest signs that Wicklow had not seen war the way England had was that people still trusted each other enough to leave their doors unlocked and their houses un-Warded. For the first time, Remus headed up the stairs that led to the family's private flat and knocked on the door at the top. There was a squeal from the other side and it was pulled open a moment later.

"REMUS!" Lyra grabbed his arm. "Come on, inside! Which of those is mine?" She gestured to the packages in his arms.

"Remind me how old you are," Remus teased at the same moment that Maddie scolded, "Lyra, don't be rude."

Remus joined the family in front of the fire and gifts were exchanged. Maddie had made him a scarf, Ian had put a bow on a bottle of wine from the tavern's cellar, and Lyra had bought him a dictatable quill.

"So your hands don't get callused from all that note-taking, scholar," she explained.

Soon after, Maddie disappeared into the kitchen (the private one, not the big one downstairs). Everyone else chatted and listened to Christmas songs on the radio until they were beckoned into the kitchen to help with the meal preparations. The bantering continued as they each worked on the tasks they had been appointed. Soon, they were moving steaming dishes to the dining room table. Ian disappeared downstairs for a few moments and returned just as they were sitting down with two uncorked bottles of wine.

"What's your poison, Remus?" Ian asked, "The girls like their traditional elderberry, but I'm partial to the French blackberry."

Remus smiled. "I'll have to stick with the ladies on this one."

"Suit yourself." Ian poured him a glass, then served his family and himself.

Maddie said the grace and soon they were all tucking in to her delicious food. Conversation flowed easily, harmless small talk drifting around the table. Ian talked at length about the Dragons' Quidditch record for the season and which of its players would make the all-Ireland team being prepared for the next World Cup. Lyra peppered him with questions about his research. Maddie kept trying to force third and fourth helpings onto his plate.

"Honestly, dear, you're thin as a rail! I don't think you eat at home," she chided, "And a bit pale today, too. You're not coming down with that dreadful cold again, are you?"

"I'm trying to ward it off," Remus said, smoothly dodging the topic and distracting Maddie by allowing her to put another slice of ham on his plate. The truth was that this December was a "blue moon" month, meaning that there were two full moons. The month had opened with one, and the second was in a few days, on the 30th. Unfortunately, that was a Thursday and meant missing two days of work. Allowing Maddie to think he was heading toward a relapse of his "cold" would provide a good cover-up. Remus sighed inwardly. He hated blue moon months. He involuntarily recalled the last one, which had been the March that Lily was pregnant. Hormones on high, she'd fussed over him even worse than Maddie was now, and the guys had been there for both of the moons…

"Dessert!" Maddie announced, standing and disappearing into the kitchen.

Remus came gladly out of his reverie and back into the present. Two types of pie and Maddie's Christmas cake floated gently down onto the table, guided by her wand. Somehow, a new chasm opened in Remus' stomach, allowing room for another course. They lingered at the table, sipping wine and talking, well after their dessert plates held only crumbs. Thus far, they had avoided any talk of Remus' life before Wicklow. Until—

"So, Remus, what did you do back in England?" Ian asked, pouring himself more wine.

Though his relaxed posture did not change, Remus' mind jumped into alert mode. This was not an acceptable topic, and had to be steered away from. "Oh, nothing exciting. I was a clerk in a bookshop, until Professor Dumbledore wrote me about this project and sent me here. How about you, Ian? Always been a tavern-owner, or are there thrilling tales in your past?" _There, that'll keep us occupied and off my life_, Remus congratulated himself.

But Ian ignored his employee's question. "And how 'bout the war? Did you fight any Desh— Death— Eatershh?"

This time Remus did stiffen slightly, unable to control himself. He had heard the slur of Ian's words and surreptitiously eyed the bottle of French blackberry wine in front of him, noticing for the first time that it was nearly empty, although only Ian had been drinking that kind. Softly, Remus said, "That was a job for the ministry, not shop clerks." True enough, and all anyone needed to know.

"But were you ever in a bashle— battle? Did you know anyone in the resis-shtance groupshsss? Resis-shtance fightershss were alwaysh shhhowing up," Ian persisted.

"Darling, Remus doesn't want think back on the war now, and especially not on Christmas," Maddie said, firmly and more loudly than usual, her sharp eyes not missing the young man's discomfort with the subject, "_No one _does." There was warning in the last part. She stood, waving her wand so that the plates and bottles of wine rose into the air, drifting to the kitchen.

"Hey, I washna finished wish that!" Ian made a grab for the floating wine bottle, but missed.

"I think we are all tired after this lovely meal, and we must open at the normal time tomorrow morning," Maddie said with determined cheerfulness, "Remus, thank you so much for joining us today; it was wonderful to have you, dear. But I don't doubt you have other places do visit yet tonight, and we don't want to keep you."

Remus didn't, but he got the message. His eyes flicked to his boss for the briefest moment before he lied, "Yes, I do. I should be on my way. Thank you all for everything; your food was superb as always, Maddie."

"Lyra, show Remus to the door, won't you? Then come back here and help me— clean up," Maddie ordered.

Lyra rose and led Remus into the next room silently. She opened the door to the stairs and he stepped onto the landing, then turned to face her. She was looking at the floor. He said, "Thank you for my quill. Thank your parents again for inviting me; I had a delightful time."

Lyra didn't look up. Softly, she said, "I'm sorry. He's not like that, usually. Just— a holiday, you know… he didn't pay attention to how much—"

"Hey," Remus cut her off and touched her hand a moment. She looked up at him. He quickly withdrew his hand, but said, "Don't worry, it's fine. I'm not offended or anything; I lived in a dorm with three other boys for seven years, remember? We weren't perfect saints all the time." _Understatement of the century._ "I really did have a delightful time; you have no idea how boring my holiday would have been without your invitation."

Lyra smiled finally. Remus could read the relief in her eyes. They bid each other goodnight and he made his way down into the tavern kitchen, then let himself into the alley. Walking back to his flat alone along the empty streets, seeing the lamplight spilling from homes full of families, Remus' thoughts lighted briefly on his last Christmas with the Marauders. For a moment, longing twisted inside him. Then Lyra's eyes as she opened his gift to her came into his mind, and her unintentionally awkward comment of, "I'll use it in the bath!" He recalled the flush of her cheeks as he and her parents laughed. The memory made him chuckle again. He forgot Christmases past and blue moons for the rest of the night.

**A/N: Memberoftheliterati would like her readers to know that she has been struck with a case of writer's block, due to an overexposure to real life. She and her imagination are working to get over this illness, and the completion of this chapter is a promising step forward, Memberoftheliterati thinks. She is sure that reviews would also be beneficial to her recovery. However, she can make no promises that there will not be a relapse, and thanks her readers for their patience. **


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